


Christmas With the Family

by Lyricoloratura



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, M/M, Romance, Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 08:15:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyricoloratura/pseuds/Lyricoloratura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim loves Christmas - but his first Christmas in space is proving to be hard on him for a lot of reasons. Now it's up to his friends to make sure he gets the holiday he deserves</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ghosts of Christmas Past

 

 ****  
 _I have always thought of Christmas time as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely._  
~Charles Dickens

* * *

"What do you mean,  _quiet_? Like, he's not yelling? I mean… Jim doesn't usually yell, Pav."

"No, not that. Like – like, all this week, even a little before, he is not talking unless he has to. And at the end of a shift, he is just  _vanished_ , and then we don't see him again until we're back on duty. Haven't you noticed? I don't know, 'Karu – I thought maybe you'd know what was going on; sometimes he tells you things."

"Not really. I mean, we talk – but not usually about important stuff. We mostly just bullshit back and forth. And, well…"

Here comes the guilt, now; Hikaru's a shitty friend, and he knows it. "I guess I haven't been paying really close attention lately."

Hikaru sends up a silent prayer that his best friend won't ask why that is – because there isn't really any  _good_  way he can say, "Because ever since you started spending most of your free time with Nadya Baranova in Engineering, I've had to start dealing with the realization that I never really stood a chance with you, and it's kind of killing me."

He thinks that little admission might kind of do some serious damage to the friendship – and if friendship is all he's ever going to have with Pavel, he certainly isn't going to risk losing it.

But Pavel isn't asking – thank God. "Should we talk to Dr. McCoy, then? Since he knows the Keptin better than anybody, maybe he can tell us what is the problem."

"It's a good idea, Pav. But I guess I've gotta ask – why is it so important to you just now? I mean, it wouldn't be the first time that somebody on the ship was having some kind of problem, and I've never known you to get involved before."

"Because it isn't just 'somebody on the ship' this time; it is Keptin Kirk. He is our _friend_ , 'Karu, and if something is upsetting to him, I want to help him if I can."

He runs a hand through his curls, looking distressed and painfully sincere. "Besides, it's almost Christmas. Nobody should feel this way at Christmas."

Hikaru nods silently in response, then sighs.  _Because that's just how Pavel thinks. No wonder I love him._

_Shit._

 

* * *

 

If Sulu is a shitty friend, it turns out that McCoy is, as well.

"No, Chekov – I hadn't noticed. But then again, I've been… pretty busy."

 _Busy, my ass. You've been holed up in your office and mad at the universe because it's going to be one more Christmas away from Jo-Jo._  Leonard McCoy realizes, more than a little guiltily, that he hasn't actually seen his best friend in – could it really have been three days?

 _Shit – no, it's been four._  Hasn't seen him, or heard from him, either.

"Now that you mention it, though – that _is_  pretty weird for Jim." The CMO goes from vague concern to full-on worry in no time flat. "You've been up on the bridge with him – has he seemed like he's sick at all?" He grabs his tricorder, ready to do battle with any malady that Jim might have picked up.

"No – physically, at least, he seems fine." Sulu shakes his head. "Just like Pavel says, he doesn't say much of anything unless he actually needs to, and then he's nowhere to be found after the end of a shift."

"Well, let's see where he is now." McCoy speaks into his communicator. "Computer, locate Captain Kirk."

The tinny voice responds immediately. "No information on the location of Captain James Kirk."

If he didn't know better, McCoy would say that computer sounds oddly smug about that.

"He's the only person on this ship who knows how to disable that damn thing."  _Of course, he's also probably the only person on the ship who'd try it._

Not that Bones can really blame him; everybody else on board has the opportunity to get lost every now and then, fade into the background. But not Jim.

"I'll look into this, guys. Thanks for giving me the heads up." Nodding a goodbye to Chekov and Sulu, he leaves his office to go in search of his best friend.

Two hours later, McCoy has a much better idea of where Jim is  _not_. Not in his quarters, not on any of the observation decks, not down in Engineering. Nor has anybody seen him since the end of Alpha shift – and that's been over five hours ago.

All the while he's been searching for Jim, he's been racking his brain for any clue to what might have happened – why he'd suddenly be pulling this disappearing act. It doesn't make any sense – especially not this close to Christmas, a holiday that Jim had tended to celebrate with an almost frantic intensity when they'd been at the Academy.

But come to think of it, the last time he'd been in Jim's room earlier in the week, there hadn't been any decorations up at all – and that's definitely weird, because when he and Jim had lived together in the dorm at the Academy, he'd driven Bones right straight up the boughs-of-holly-decked-wall by decorating anything in the room that didn't move just as soon as the Thanksgiving holiday ended.

But it's different now; it's their first Christmas in space. Maybe now that Jim is captain of the  _Enterprise_ , he doesn't think it's appropriate. And that kind of sucks, really.

Well, wherever Jim isn't, it's a pretty good bet that he'll be back in his quarters before too much more time has passed – after all, it's been almost a full shift since anyone has clapped eyes on him, and he'll have to go to bed at some point.

McCoy decides to wait him out, stretching out in Jim's best easy chair; his med school training has made him such a light sleeper that the slightest noise at Jim's door will wake him up, and he can take the opportunity to find out what the hell is going on with the little shit, anyway.

Not until his communicator wakes him at 06:30 does he realize that Jim never made it back, after all.

"McCoy here," he speaks into his comm, his voice even gruffer than usual from lack of use.

"Doctor, it's Scott – and I need you to come down here to Engineering before Alpha Shift starts. And you'll need to bring Spock and Uhura with you – Chekov and Sulu, too, if you can." He sounds uncharacteristically serious.

"Don't suppose you wanna explain why the hell you're summoning us like somebody died and left you king, do you?" McCoy can't decide whether he's more ticked off or worried; he's got a niggling feeling this has got something to do with Jim, and would very much like for Scotty to stop being so damn mysterious.

"Sorry, Doc. But it's something I can only explain in person. Just sayin' that I've got something down here that you all need to hear."

 

* * *

 

By 07:00, Sulu and Chekov have made it down to Sickbay, followed by a decidedly cranky-looking Lt. Uhura.

"Doctor, do you want to explain why you felt the need to drag us down here a  _full hour_  before the beginning of our shift?"

 _Yep_ , McCoy thinks –  _she's definitely cranky._

Then again, the  _Enterprise's_  lovely Communications Officer hasn't been particularly pleasant to be around for quite a while – not that McCoy listens to ship's gossip, but he finds himself wondering if the rumors that she and Spock have called it quits are actually true.

Honestly, he'd kind of expected Spock to show up with her – but the hobgoblin had sent a somewhat terse text message a couple of minutes ago to the effect that he would meet them all in Engineering at approximately 07:10.

 _And what kind of stick-up-the-ass control freak says **approximately**  fucking 07:10, anyway?_ Leonard knows that Jim has enormous respect for his First Officer, but the CMO has never found him to be anything but insufferable.

Competent? Undeniably.

Smart? Yeah, beyond anything he's ever encountered – except for possibly Jim himself.

Smug, self-satisfied prick? Oh,  _hell_  yeah.

But be that as it may, he's not here with Uhura – which may have something to do with the little frown line that seems to have become semi-permanent between those perfect eyebrows.

"Not actually my idea, Lieutenant," Leonard says with a courtly tone that only those who knew him well would realize was almost entirely sarcastic. "Mr. Scott tells me he's got something in Engineering that we need to hear – and I'm supposing it has something to do with the fact that none of us have clapped eyes on the captain of this bucket of bolts since the end of Alpha Shift."

Uhura gives him a look that all but shouts, "And I should care about this  _why_ …?" She may even be on the verge of saying something to that effect – but stops when she sees the genuine concern on the doctor's face, choosing instead to remain resolutely silent.

For that matter, Chekov is uncharacteristically quiet this morning, too, Leonard notes – not that he's complaining, because honestly, sometimes the kid's non-stop chatter can drive him right around the bend. Sulu's not saying anything, either – but then again, he's a man of few words.

_At least compared to Pavel…_

Without further delay, the four of them leave McCoy's office to head down to the deck below, where Scotty is waiting for them – presumably accompanied by Spock by now.

 _Because after all,_  Leonard thinks with an inward eye roll,  _it **is**  approximately 07:10._

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, Jim actually had been in Engineering last night – Leonard had just been asking the wrong people. He and Scotty had holed up together in a little-used meeting room – barely more than a glorified closet – with a couple of bottles of Glenlivet that Scott had been saving for a special occasion.

"So, do tell – what was the special occasion?" Uhura seems to have held back the Snark Monster for as long as she could; her voice is dripping with the same undisguised distaste that shows so clearly on her face. Spock stiffens almost imperceptibly as she speaks, but his eyes remain fixed on an indeterminate spot on the wall over Mr. Scott's shoulder.

"Well, now – it  _is_  almost Christmas, lass. And besides that, it was lookin' to me like the captain needed a bit of real, honest-to-goodness drink. Of course, it ended up being more than a  _bit_ by the time we were done."

Scott rubs a hand ruefully through his short blond hair. "Got the devil of a head on me this morning; I'd have to think Kirk's got it even worse. Good thing for him he's not on duty today – wish the hell I weren't."

McCoy's patience has run out. "How long was Jim with you? Do you know where he is now? And what's this you say we've gotta hear?"

"Don't rightly know where the captain gets to when he's in one of these moods," the engineer replies. "He never says, and I figure it's better that I don't ask. That way I'm not needin' to lie to anyone if they come lookin' for him."

"Like your people  _didn't lie to me_  last night?" McCoy almost growls that last rejoinder, and Sulu and Chekov exchange worried glances, wondering if their CMO is going to finally knock the living hell out of their Chief Engineer.

But Scotty goes on as though he doesn't notice McCoy's tenuous grip on his temper. "That's right, Doc. As far as they knew, the captain wasn't down here – and I never bothered to tell them otherwise. None of their business, the way I see it."

Just then, a light seems to come on for the doctor. "Wait just one minute, here. You said, 'when he's in one of these moods.' You tellin' me that Jim makes a  _habit_  of hiding out down here?"

Scott shakes his head slowly. "I wouldn't put it like that, no." He pulls a chair back from the table, sitting down and sweeping an arm toward other chairs in the room as a mute invitation to the others to do so as well.

Chekov and Sulu sit, and after a brief pause, McCoy does too. He notices that Uhura remains close to the door, looking ready to bolt – and Spock? Well, the hobgoblin's barely moved a muscle since they all got down there, and he sure as hell doesn't seem to be wanting to participate in this line of discussion. He's still standing at parade rest, and looking for all the world as though there's nobody else in the room.

The Chief Engineer is looking thoughtful. "You've got to understand – or at least I'd think you'd understand – that running this ship is one hell of a big job. And a damn lonely one, I think – I know I wouldn't want it. Because no matter how many people are involved in the little decisions or the big ones, at the end of the day, all of it – the little things, and the life-or-death things – it all ends up on Kirk's shoulders."

He sighs, shakes his head. "And he hasn't been at it so long that he feels like he can ask for help, I think – maybe it's like he's thinking he's admitting weakness if he doesn't know every answer. Can't really say what goes on in his head – that's just what I'm guessing, is all."

Bones leans back in his chair, looking more closely than usual at the guy he's always considered to be more or less just some mechanical genius who's otherwise, well… kind of a whack job.

Except just now, the damn crazy Scotsman seems to be doing a better job of figuring Jim out than he himself – Jim's supposed best friend – has managed to do lately.

"Seems like a decent guess, Scott." There's significantly less irritation in the doctor's tone now. "And you think he comes down here when the pressure starts gettin' to him?"

The engineer nods sagely. "You wouldn't understand this – wouldn't expect you to – but there's something powerful comforting about being right here where you can hear the lady's heart beating – you can even feel it if you want to. Not everybody feels that way, of course – but I do. And Kirk does."

He shrugs, at a loss for words. "The  _Enterprise_ , she'll make all kinds of things better, if you're of a mind to let her."

Spock startles everyone briefly by taking a step forward; they'd almost forgotten he was there, he'd been so still and silent.

"Mr. Scott," he interjects, a hint of what might be impatience in his tone, "I believe you called us to Engineering on a matter of what you considered to be of some importance. Since our time is limited by the upcoming beginning of Alpha Shift, I might request that you share the information you wish for us to have."

Sulu almost laughs at that – trust Spock to be able to take the sentiment of "shut up and get the hell on with it" and make it sound like a memo to Starfleet Command.

Scotty gets the point, though.

"Yes, sir." He nods briefly before pulling out a small, personal-sized PADD that had been lying unnoticed on the table. "All of this started last night with us talking about Christmas, of all things."

He slides the PADD across the table to McCoy, nodding toward it as if to indicate that he should switch it on. When the screen lights up, a list is there – no title, just dates, and cryptic notes alongside them.

 _Which figures._  He thinks back to their Academy days – not that long ago, really. McCoy can remember a few instances – memorable because of how rare they were – when Jim would almost seem to disappear into his own head. He'd get almost frighteningly quiet and introspective, and it would take Bones a day or two to figure out what was causing it so that he could sort of talk Jim down off the ledge, as it were.

Besides himself and maybe Pike, McCoy was pretty sure that nobody would believe that Jim's cocky façade hid a seething mass of insecurity; for all that he was the smartest person Leonard had ever met, the kid seemed to always feel that he still had something to prove to somebody – though God only knew who. Everyone who'd ever dealt with Jim Kirk for any length of time at all knew that he was something truly special, and a force to be reckoned with – but Jim Kirk himself had yet to figure that out.

And when something would happen to crack that façade of Jim's and send him into a tailspin of self-doubt, he'd hole himself up somewhere –

_Like right now, you idiot._

He really is the shittiest excuse for a best friend ever if it's taken him this long to make the connection.

Jim would hole himself up somewhere – and he'd make lists. Bones had found them lying around sometimes after Jim had gotten back to his annoyingly cheerful self again – and sometimes they made sense to him. More often, they didn't – but they seemed to help Jim out, so he'd always supposed that was worth something.

This one – he looks at it again, and he's thinking that maybe it's not so cryptic, after all.

 

**_2233 - ?_ **

**_2234-38: Christmas with Grandma & Grandpa K and Sam_ **

_All right,_  McCoy realizes,  _this is about Christmas somehow_. He still can't figure out why, but this is a start.

And he can remember Jim, in some of his more idiotic and over-the-top moments of Christmas festivity, talking about his Grandma Kirk and how she'd decorate the house, the mantel, the tree – pretty much everything, from the sounds of it. They'd bake cookies and sing carols – and it sounded like something off of one of the vids they always showed this time of year back on Earth. Nauseating, but kind of sweet, really.

The way Jim had talked about it, Bones had never realized that those Christmases had all happened before he was – he looks at the dates on the list again – what, five years old? He was Jo-Jo's age the last time he'd had Christmas with his grandparents.

Somehow, the idea of Jim holding on so tightly to those memories for over twenty years starts a dull ache in the doctor's chest.

**_2239-40: Iowa. Christmas with Sam_ **

His big brother Sam – Jim idolized him, Leonard knows. And he also knows that he hasn't seen Sam in years, that Sam's barely been in touch with anybody in the family since he ran away from home when Jim was eight. But it looks as though they'd managed a couple of Christmases together.

**_2241-45: with Frank_ **

Bones notes that the word "Christmas" is totally absent from that entry. Probably because there wasn't any; though Jim didn't have a lot to say about it, McCoy had still managed to figure out that there had been some pretty shocking abuse and neglect in his friend's past – and that son of a bitch Frank has a lot to answer for.

**_2246: off planet_ **

_Off planet_. McCoy hears himself swallowing hard in the silence of the room. He realizes suddenly that everyone has stopped and is watching him read this list – and he finds that he doesn't give a shit.

They don't know what he does – that Jim's terse notation of "off planet" is his shorthand for the year he spent on the colony at Tarsus IV. That the last four months of that year had been a hideous combination of famine and mass murder on the planet. That Jim – barely into his teens himself – had become the protector of a ragtag group of starving orphaned children, struggling to keep them all alive through what was nothing less than a living hell, until Starfleet arrived, much too late, to rescue them all.

_No Christmas there, obviously._

**_2247-54_ **

Eight years – nothing. Jim never really talked about that time in his life, and didn't give anything in the way of details when he did. Bones knew that he'd spent quite a bit of it developing the reputation that followed him into Starfleet Academy – of being what Pike had called "the only genius level repeat offender in the Midwest" – but not much else. Jim could be pretty cagey when he wanted to be, even with his best friend.

 _Eight years_ , though – and if Jim was making this list about his Christmases... well, there aren't any here, either.

**_2255-58: Academy. Christmas with Bones_ **

He swallows hard again – partly because it feels kind of good to know that he rates a mention on the list, and partly because… well. Now, all of a sudden, Jim's seemingly insane Christmas celebrations at the Academy make a lot more sense. Little shit had a lot of catching up to do.

He feels bad in retrospect for all of the bah-humbuggery he'd thrown at Jim over those years as he'd put up yet more decorations in their tiny room – though Jim had always shrugged him off cheerfully, and kept doing what he was doing. And for all that most of it was truly garish – tinsel upon tinsel and lights that went on forever – even Bones had had to admit that the hologram of the fireplace had been pretty amazing. And he really  _hadn't_  minded the tree that much.

**2259**

That's now. Christmas is tomorrow.

_And Jim is making lists._

He puts down the PADD, meeting Scotty's eyes. "Okay. This makes more sense to me, now – but what is it that we need to listen to?"

Scott grins ruefully. "It's like this, Doc – for all that I'm pretty nimble when I'm sober, get a few too many into me and I get clumsy. The captain and I were sittin' in here for a long time, and we both got fair blootered by the time we'd gotten through a couple bottles of the good stuff."

Pavel looks baffled. "Blootered?"

"Aye, lad. You know - sloshed, blitzed, guttered, smashed, sozzled, poleaxed, and awa' wi' the fairies."

The explanation does not seem to have helped Pavel any, but Uhura has had it by now, and is fairly dripping scorn.

"He's trying to pull off the 'oh, I'm Scottish and aren't I adorable' bit, Ensign. In Standard, they were drunk.  _Very_  drunk, if I have my guess." She wrinkles her nose as though she can still smell the alcohol in the room.

Scotty is unfazed by Uhura's less-than-flattering description. "You're right, Lieutenant – that we were. And, as men tend to do when we've had too many, we found ourselves havin' quite the talk."

He gestured to the small communications station that was standard equipment in every meeting room. "It wasn't long before I figured out we oughtn't to be getting any interruptions, so I went to turn this wee monster off. Only thing is, I wasn't paying attention, and hit the wrong button. Or one of the wrong buttons, I suppose. I did manage to turn off the receiver, but accidentally turned on the recorder."

Sulu's eyes are wide with surprise. "You mean to say, you two got loaded and you ended up recording the conversation you had?" Because if that's the case – holy crap. Between Kirk and Scott, that could be _epic_.

"That's exactly what I mean to say. Though honestly, I didn't realize I'd done it 'til I woke up in here this morning and the light was still flashing at me. Then I thought I'd better play it back – make sure I hadn't said anything to the captain that was going to get me thrown off the ship. And… " he sighs. "For all that my own drunken ramblings aren't something I like to listen to sober, I'm thinking you all need to hear some of what got said last night."

He looks over to Uhura and Spock. "You'll want to sit, I think." He waits, then, just watching them quietly until they finally do take seats around the table.

 _Scott might not want a command position_ , McCoy thinks with some amusement,  _but he'd probably be pretty damn good at it_.

Without ceremony, Scotty flips a switch, and the sound of his voice fills the room.

"… the hell you keep yourself, Captain – down in the damn Jefferies tubes?"

"Aw, c'mon, Scotty. That'd be telling." There's Jim – and he's already sounding more than a little worse for wear. "Besides, then you'd know where I am, and that wouldn't do at all. Not at all, at all, at all."

"All right, then – it's your little secret. But you're running low – shall I pour you another?" The clink of glass signals Jim's response in the affirmative.

"But what brings you down here tonight, Jim? Because you'll excuse me, I hope, but I know you're enough like me to know that you come down to be with our lady when something's troubling you. Is there anything the matter?"

Jim's laugh is surprisingly bitter, Bones thinks – he's usually such a happy drunk. "The matter? Nah, Scotty. Everything's fine. It's just this time of year. Gets to me every time."

"Is that so? That surprises me – I'd have pegged you as a man who just loves Christmas."

"Yeah, I guess most people would. It's all those parties and decorations and junk food and loud singing – all the shit I'm the most fond of, right?"

"Suppose that's one way of putting it. But that wasn't what I was thinking, Jim. I was thinking about you and how you feel about family – and that's always what Christmas was about for me."

"How do  _you_ know how I feel about family?" Suddenly, Jim's voice is tense, accusatory.

Scotty cuts in quickly, his tone conciliatory. "Of course I don't – it was just what I always thought, seein' how you always treat us like we're your family. That's all."

There's a long silence – long enough for the people at the table to glance uncomfortably at one another. This is a breach of privacy, and they all know it.

"Do I, Scotty? Do I treat you all like family?" The anger is gone from Jim's voice now, replaced by an uncertainty that makes McCoy's chest ache all over again. "I've always hoped I did."

There's a quiet, self-deprecatory laugh that doesn't really sound like a laugh ought to. "Problem with me is, I never really figured out how family is supposed to treat each other, so I'm sorta flying blind."

The silence stretches out again before Jim continues. "And, when it comes down to it, that's probably why I'm down here with the engines and way the fuck too much scotch."

He pauses again, sighs. "Just like you said – Christmas is all about families. With one thing and another, I've kinda never had one – not for any length of time, really. Mom's never been around – hell, if it weren't for current Starfleet rosters, I wouldn't know where she is right now. Grandma and Grandpa Kirk both died when I was just little – and my brother Sam… well, he's out of the picture, too, and has been for a long time. So Christmas has been kind of a non-event for me for most of my life."

That humorless laugh again, then there's the sound of glass sliding across the table. "Fuck, Scotty. I've gotten to the 'Embarrassing Maudlin Confessions' stage. Gimme some more of that shit so I can bypass this and get to the 'Slurring Uncontrollably' and 'Drooling on the Table' stages a little bit faster, willya?"

"Sure, Jim." Scott is sounding unusually serious. "Have a double."

"Thank you, my good man." The sound of Jim drinking, then smacking his lips exaggeratedly. "Knew I hired you on for a reason."

"But you didn't say what the problem was now, Jim – and you've gotta know you've got my curiosity piqued."

He doesn't really sound all that drunk on the recording just now, and McCoy looks suspiciously over at the Chief Engineer at the other end of the table. Scotty is avoiding him, looking carefully down at his hands.

"Piqued? I've got your curiosity  _piqued_?" Jim giggles a little at that. "Who the fuck says 'piqued,' Scotty?"

"Piqued, piqued, _piqued_." Scotty laughs a little, too. "So  _I_  the fuck say it."

But then he doesn't say any more, and there is another quiet pause.

"Fine. Won't kill me to tell you – 'specially since neither of us are likely to remember it in the norming. The morning. Whatever."

There's a creaking sound – probably the same chair Sulu's sitting in now – as Jim draws a deep breath.

"So, yeah. Family. Mine kinda sucked. Closest thing I've ever really had to a brother is Bones. 'Cause, really. Sam? When things really started going to shit at home, he ran away. Bones? If things go to hell and  _he_ starts running, you can bet it's to pull my ass out of trouble rather than to leave me there."

Everyone at the table sneaks a surreptitious glance over at McCoy – quickly looking away again when it becomes clear that the chronically surly doctor is actually fighting back tears.

"But having Bones with me at the Academy," Jim is continuing, "that was an excuse to have Christmas again. I drove him fucking nuts – but he put up with me. He always does, no matter how big of a pain in his ass I am."

"I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have it any other way, Jim." Scotty sounds a little emotional now, too – though the scotch probably has more than a little to do with that.

"So, here's the crazy part, Scotty." Jim's on a roll, now. "This. This is our first Christmas out in space, right? And it's like you said – it's like we're a family out here. So, I thought that maybe… shit. I'd  _hoped_  that we could have some sort of a Christmas, all of us. Not a real Earth Christmas – but kind of a family Christmas, all the same. You know – the tree, the lights, the cookies, hanging out together and just enjoying each other – all that stupid shit that probably shouldn't matter, but it really does. But it turned out I was wrong."

When he doesn't go on, Scotty prompts him, "Wrong, how?"

"Fuck – all kinds of wrong." Jim stops to take another drink; he's amazingly coherent, especially considering the amount of alcohol that has to be in his system. "I'd kind of forgotten how bad it bothers Bones when he can't see Joanna at Christmas – I don't blame him, of course, that's his little girl – but it's not like when we lived together and I could sort of force myself on him. Now he's busy, I'm busy – and I haven't seen him in days, now, so it's not like I can attack him with tinsel like I used to."

"Maybe you should comm him and talk to him?" Scotty sounds dubious.

"And get my head bitten off for even  _suggesting_  that we do something festive? No, thank you. I get my head bitten off plenty as it is without ever leaving the bridge, thanks so much."

The eyes at the table all focus on their Communications Officer – and Uhura has the grace to look self-conscious.

"Swear to God, Scotty – I don't know what I've done to Uhura, but it's way beyond disrespect these days; she hates my fucking guts. I guess I should be grateful that she manages to stay more or less professional about it and doesn't actually spit on me when I speak to her." Jim sighs. "I mean, seriously. Usually when a woman wants me to die slowly and painfully, I've got a pretty good idea as to why – but this time? No fucking clue."

"Beats me – who knows about women?" Certainly not Scotty, that's for sure.

"Well, let's just say I'm not likely to be meeting her under the mistletoe, and leave it at that. You know, somebody said that maybe she and Spock… but that doesn't matter."

A brief pause again. "Then there's Sulu – have you seen him lately?"

"Not as much as usual – but why do you ask?"

"Well, he's miserable, that's why. Walks around looking like he's lost his best friend. Which I guess he sort of has, come to think of it – he and Chekov used to be Frick and Frack, joined at the hip, and now I don't ever see them together anymore."

"I've been seeing a good bit more of Chekov down here since we got our new lass, Baranova – turns out they're from the same hometown, and they go rattlin' off in Russian at damn near Warp Ten. It drives us all fair batty just listening to it."

"Do you suppose he even knows he's broken poor Sulu's heart?" Jim stops for a moment, as though he's considering that. "Nah – of course he doesn't. Chekov's a little ditzy, but he's never mean. The kid probably never even realized that Sulu's crazy about him."

"Then he'd be the only one – but you're probably right. Sometimes those genius types don't pay any attention to the stuff that really matters, I think. And it probably doesn't help that he's, what – eighteen?"

"Yeah. Guess this time the equation goes, 'kid plus genius equals clueless,' eh? So – you can see where I'm going with that, anyway. From the look of things, Chekov's going to want to do some sort of Russian Christmas with his new little friend, and Sulu isn't going to want to celebrate at all."

Over the course of this part of the conversation, Sulu has gone positively white – then red, then white again. It's clear that only the fact that he's trapped behind the table has kept him from fleeing from the room. He is ignoring them all, staring at his hands with a laser-like intensity as they hang onto the table in a white-knuckled grip. He looks for all the world as though he's trying to make the recording stop, make the rest of them simply disappear, just by the sheer force of his will alone.

Pavel's expression, on the other hand, is unreadable. His eyes are almost comically wide as he stares at Sulu, his jaw quite literally dropped as he leans far back in his seat – and he could be expressing amazement, shock, horror, bewilderment, or any combination of those emotions. One way or the other, he doesn't move from that position for a very long time.

"And I know I'm not much help down here, am I? You knew my idea of a big family Christmas would be to go sit in the nacelles. Not so festive, right?" Scotty sounds regretful.

"Nah, don't worry about it, Scotty. It really isn't that big of a deal."

Maybe not – but something,  _something_  is a  _huge_  deal with Jim just now, and McCoy thinks that he's right on the verge of figuring out what it is.

Then Scotty's voice asks the question for him. "What about Spock?"

There's a long silence before Jim responds. "You'd better pour me another one for that, buddy."

The sound of glass and liquid indicates that Scott is complying with that request – but he's not letting the question go unanswered. "I thought you two were getting along – no?"

"Who the fuck even knows? Dammit, Scotty – I thought so. I thought we were friends – maybe even really good friends. I mean – shit, this sounds so stupid I can't believe I'm saying it – but I let him get closer to me than I do most people. Almost anybody, really."

He draws a deep breath, lets it out in a gusty sigh. "Special. That's what it was - it was  _special_. Or, at least – well, shit. At least I thought it was. I thought maybe... fuck it. Never mind."

Now, finally, Jim is starting to sound like most drunk people usually sound. And now, finally, it's Spock's turn to look blankly shocked, and Uhura is looking at him with wide, surprised eyes.

"I don't know what I did, Scotty. Musta said something wrong, or got in his space, or… hell, I don't know what. But he won't even talk to me now unless he's got something to tell me about the ship – and we're hardly ever on the same shift anymore. He does the rosters, Scotty, so I know he's adverting me on purpose. Avoiding me. Whatever. He doesn't want to be in the same room with me."

"Gotta admit I'd wondered about that."

"Fuck, Scotty – really?" Jim sounds even more upset. "Oh,  _God_  – please don't tell me I've been mooning around like some kind of an idiot lovesick teenage girl."

_Lovesick?_

Unbelievable as it seems, there's McCoy's answer in one little word, and it hits him like a bolt out of the blue. Somehow, without him noticing, the damn fool has managed to fall in love with the one sentient being on this ship who would be absolutely  _certain_  not to return his feelings. He doesn't know whether to be mad at Jim for being so goddamn stupid – or to be furious with Spock for breaking Jim's heart.

Always easier to go with the hobgoblin – and he has a nuclear-grade glare ready to fix on him, until he notices an expression on Spock's face he's never seen there before.

Face it – other than anger, he's never seen any expression there at all – but Spock looks… hell, he looks  _devastated_.

And Uhura? She looks absolutely ready to kill somebody – and for once, it doesn't seem to be Jim Kirk.

Scotty's voice on the recording is reassuring. "Nah – you haven't been  _acting_  like anything. But you've been down here a lot of an evening – and usually, you'd spent your evenings with the commander. So I wasn't sure what was going on, but I knew something was different – that's all."

"That's enough, though, isn't it?" The sound of a chair scraping across the floor indicates that one of them is getting up. It's probably Jim – and he's sounding increasingly upset. "Enough to tell me that any ideas I had about us being some kind of a fucking family – any of us – it was all just bullshit. I shoulda known it's bullshit, just like my idea of Christmas is  _complete_ and _utter total fucking bullshit_."

There's a loud, metallic clatter – probably the chair falling backwards onto the floor. "Enough of this sentimental crap, right? I'm going to go find a place to sleep this off, Mr. Scott, and you can finish off the bottle on your own if you want. Shut me the fuck up before I decide I want to fucking throw myself out of an airlock or something."

The awful, humorless attempt at a laugh was the last they hear of Jim before the pneumatic hiss of the door indicates that he's left the room –

\- and Scotty reaches over to turn off the recording.

"That was all of it," he announces simply, into the most profound silence he's ever heard.

Then, almost as if a switch flips, Sulu is bolting from the room, followed in short order by Spock. Uhura takes off after Spock like a cat with her tail on fire, and finally, after a long moment of contemplation, Chekov gets up and leaves the room without a word.

McCoy and Scott are left staring at one another across the table.

"Two things," the doctor says quietly. "One – that was no accident, you putting on that recording, and you know it." The engineer looks self-conscious – but not guilty.

"Another thing – so, all right, make it three – that was one hell of a violation of Jim's privacy, but I can see why you did it. You're a good friend, and I'm glad you  _did_  do it, privacy or not."

McCoy rolls his chair back from the table. "So, three – I think you and I have some serious work to get done."

 

* * *

 

The buzzer at Sulu's door is going off again – for the fifth time in less than a minute. He knows who it is – there's a fucking  _reason_  he's not answering the door, for God's sake.

"Pavel, please. I know it's you.  _Please_  go away." He raises his voice enough that he knows Pavel can hear him.

A long, uninterrupted buzz at his door is the only reply –  _what, is he leaning on the button or something?_

This is absolutely the last conversation he wants to have – he can't think of anything worse than Pavel's affectionate remorse and pity – but it looks as though Hikaru doesn't have much of a choice. He opens the door.

Pavel immediately steps in – he looks a little pale, but also unusually determined. Hikaru is looking for pity in that expression, and doesn't see it – which is a relief, but confusing, all the same.

"We must talk now, Hikaru – and you must promise to answer me honestly, no matter what."

Sulu closes his eyes, covers them with his hand. Usually, this is the person for whom honesty comes as easily as breathing – he and Pav have been best friends for years, and Hikaru has always been able to tell him anything.

But not this – God,  _never_  this – and now _this_  is what Pavel wants to talk about, and he knows it. He nods silently in response.

" _Nyet_. Say it. Say you promise."

Opening his eyes again, he looks back up at Pavel – who looks more serious than Hikaru has ever seen him look.

"All right – I promise." He takes a deep breath, wishing he were anywhere but here right now.

"It is true what the Keptin says? That I have hurt you when I go to talk with Nadya instead of spending time with you like we did before?"

"Pav, it doesn't matter. I – "

"Yes or no. Answer, please."

Forget wishing he were anywhere else – Hikaru wishes he could just fucking  _die_. "Yes."

Pavel flinches at that, as though Hikaru has reached out and hit him instead of just answering the question –  _the question that he **asked** , after all. What the hell did he think I was going to say?_

But then he squares his shoulders again, as if he's about to do battle with Hikaru rather than talk to him. This isn't anything like their usual rambling, comfortable conversations – and Hikaru hates it.

Hates it for so, so many reasons...

"Is it true also what he says, Hikaru, that you are…"

Pavel seems to lose his nerve, here; his eyes have gotten absolutely huge, and he's breathing fast.

"What – that I'm in love with you?"

 _What the hell, Sulu_ –  _might as well get it over with._ "Yeah. Also true – have been for ages. But I  _swear_ , Pav, I can –mmph..."

Pavel has effectively silenced him by throwing his arms around Hikaru and kissing him fiercely. After a moment of shocked immobility, Hikaru manages to wrap his arms around Pavel as well, returning the kiss with equal fervor.

It's a long, long time before either of them find the presence of mind to carry on a conversation – but when they finally do, it's all either of them could have wanted to hear. Pav hadn't had any idea – none at all – about Hikaru's real feelings for him. When Nadya had come aboard, Pavel was so glad to find an old friend to whom he could vent about his hopelessly unrequited (or so he'd thought) love for his best friend – and Nadya was glad to listen, sharing stories about her girlfriend back in Yekaterinburg, as well.

"I'd  _never_  hurt you, not on purpose – you know that, yes?" Pavel's voice is somewhat muffled; he's essentially speaking into Hikaru's shirt at this point.

"Of course I do," Hikaru replies, nuzzling into Pavel's curls as Pav leans against his shoulder. "I never thought it was on purpose."

Pavel sighs happily. "I think we are owing the Keptin a debt of gratitude."

Hikaru's arms tighten around him. "I think," he says, considering, "we are owing the captain a Christmas."

Reluctantly, he lets go of Pavel, dropping one last kiss onto the top of his head. "Let's call McCoy."

 

* * *

 

The sound of a slap echoes in the empty and otherwise silent corridor.

"You.. you absolute  _bastard_. How  _could_  you?"

Spock stands in silence as well, looking at Nyota as though he has never seen her before. And indeed, he has not – not like this, at least. In the course of their relationship, he had seen her expressing any number of emotions – especially most recently, when he had terminated their romantic involvement – but he has never encountered a truly furiously angry Nyota.

She is glaring murderously at him, and he realizes that his hand has gone up instinctively to the spot on his face where her hand had so recently struck him.

In addition to having never seen her so angry, he has also been unaware up until now, he realizes, of exactly how strong she is – especially for a Human woman.

"I fail to understand why you are –"

"Oh, shut up, and don't give me that goddamn 'I fail to understand' shit. You forget, I  _know_  you – and playing 'dumb unemotional Vulcan' doesn't work with me, remember?"

Her hands are clenched in fists at her sides now, and her cheeks are flushed slightly red. "You know what you've done. What you've done to me, what you've done to him – and to think I've been treating him like dirt because I thought  _he'd_  broken  _your_  heart! You… I've thought a lot of things about you, but I'd never figured that you would be so cruel."

"Nyota," Spock sounds stern, now, his voice cold in juxtaposition to Nyota's heat. "My emotional involvements – or the lack thereof – are no longer a matter of your concern."

"That's where you're wrong." She's not backing down. "You broke it off with me because you couldn't return my feelings. We went round and round and  _round_  until you finally admitted it – you couldn't return my feelings because you'd fallen in love with Jim Fucking Kirk."

She takes a deep, shuddering breath, finding her own considerable self-control. "So, all right. So I let you go, I don't make any waves – and I assume,  _idiot_  that I seem to be, that you will, oh… maybe  _tell_  him? Because I don't know, Spock. I don't know if Jim loves you or not – but if he doesn't, I'm pretty sure he could, if he knew how you feel. And I'm  _damn_  sure he deserves to know it."

Spock has gone very still, now, watching her – and Nyota has transitioned from blind fury to a fierce intensity that is possibly as startling as the earlier physical blow had been.

"Spock. I know what's going on, or at least I think you do. You've never told another living being that you loved them – and of course it's hard. It's probably even terrifying – it was for me, I know."

She stops, then, taking a deep breath and blinking back tears. That particular confession –and the rather devastating aftermath thereof – isn't one she wants to relive anytime soon, really.

"But, Spock… you heard him – you heard what you're doing to him. He doesn't have any idea why you're doing this – all he knows is what he sees, that his friend, the person he spent most of his time with, is just gone. And he's hurt."

She gives him a long, direct stare. "Do you get that? You're _hurting_  him, Spock, and you've got to fix it, don't you see? Maybe you  _can't_  tell him you love him – maybe that's just too much for you. I get that. But you can't just stop being his friend because you're afraid of your feelings for him; he doesn't understand it, and you mean too much to him to keep doing what you're doing."

Finally, he seems to shake himself mentally – just slightly. "You are correct, Nyota. Until hearing him express his feelings on the subject a few minutes ago, I did not realize the effects of my actions upon Jim."

Nyota stares him down – is that  _guilt_  on his face? "Or perhaps I did, and chose to ignore them, or to attribute his change in mood to other factors."

He tilts his head, considering. "At any rate, you are also correct that I need, at the very least, to remedy the damage I have done to Jim, and to our friendship." He rubs his cheek again. "Though I cannot say that I particularly appreciated the method in which your advice was delivered, I am willing to admit that it was rather badly needed. I have behaved inappropriately, and need to consider options for making amends to Jim."

She graces him with a tiny smile as they both turn toward the lift to the bridge – Alpha Shift is about to start, after all. "That you do, my friend. And I might have to go through any number of my Federation languages to find a suitable apology for how I've been treating the captain. I mean, I've been a prize bitch – it's a wonder he didn't transfer me to another ship –" she smiles wryly – " or toss  _me_  out the airlock."

 

 

**  
**


	2. Operation Noel

**"Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love."**  
 _~ Hamilton Wright Mabie_

* * *

Beta Shift is well underway before Bones is finally able to track Jim down – for once, he's in his quarters, and so McCoy is going to high-tail it up there and catch him before he pulls another vanishing act. It's Christmas Eve, and they need to know where Jim is if they're going to do what they've planned.

It's just as well Jim wasn't on duty today, he thinks – and even better that they're just sailing through a vast amount of deep space just now between missions instead of doing anything particularly important. Because a great deal of the conversation on the bridge today had had very little to do with matters of ship's business – or at least not the kind of ship's business that Starfleet cares about.

 _This is **our** ship's business_, Bones thinks, feeling a sudden flare of protectiveness toward his best friend.  ** _Jim_** _is our business. And if the little shit wants a family Christmas, then he's damn well going to get one._

There's no answer when he hits Jim's buzzer the first time – not the second time, either – so he uses his prerogative as best friend and CMO to use his medical override code. Turns out that the twinge of worry he's been feeling in spite of himself is unwarranted; from the sounds of things, Jim's just in the shower.

McCoy puts down the two mugs he's been somewhat precariously holding in one hand – he'd felt like all kinds of an idiot carrying them through the corridors, but they're necessary for the success of what Sulu has christened "Operation Noël." Assuming his spot in what even Jim calls "his" chair, Bones picks up his own mug and waits.

He doesn't have to wait long, it's barely two minutes before the water is turned off, and barely another minute before the door opens and Jim appears, clad only in the white Starfleet-issue towel wrapped around his waist.

"Merry almost Christmas, infant."

Jim damn near jumps out of his skin, clutching his chest with one hand and the towel with the other.

"Holy  _fuck_ , Bones! What's the _matter_  with you?"

"Not a thing. Just that it's Christmas Eve – and we've got a tradition to attend to. And since I haven't been able to get hold of you in over a day now, I figured I'd better take matters into my own hands."

"Tradition?" Jim looks confused for a moment, but then smiles just a little when he sees what Bones has brought with him. "The  _cocoa_  is a tradition?"

His friend smiles back. "Well, considering we always sat down together and had cocoa the night before Christmas when we were living together at the Academy, it kinda felt like a tradition to me."

He shrugs. "And I like cocoa. So sue me."

Jim's expression softens a little bit. "Thanks, Bones. And you're right – it does feel kind of like a tradition, doesn't it?"

Turning away briefly, he rummages through drawers to find a pair of flannel pants and a t-shirt before unceremoniously dropping the towel and quickly getting into his clothes. He's not too concerned about modesty; after all, it's not as though Bones hasn't seen all of it – many, many times.

Picking up his own mug of cocoa from the end table near Bones' chair, Jim sits down on the edge of his bed and takes an appreciative sip.

"Whoa – whipped cream and everything? You went all out, didn't you?"

"I figured, what the hell. It's complete crap and has almost no nutritional value – but Christmas only comes once a year. I'd have done marshmallows, but they weren't programmed into the replicator."

Jim laughs softly. "Imagine that – I guess I'll have to put in a work order for that. Can't have a functioning starship without marshmallows."

There's a brief, comfortable silence before McCoy gestures around the room. "This is sure a change from what our room used to look like on Christmas Eve. You been too busy to make this place into every Christmas elf's wet dream?"

Jim's smile fades a little. "Yeah, I've been pretty busy."

That's bullshit, and they both know it, but McCoy's going to let it go for now.

He raises his cup of cocoa as if for a toast. "Here's to us, Jimmy Boy. Long way from where we were last Christmas, isn't it?"

They'd already been named Captain and CMO of the  _Enterprise_  that Christmas – but since the ship was still in dry dock undergoing repairs after the run-in with the  _Narada_ and the red matter singularity that had followed it, they'd been on Earth for the holiday. Granted, the officers' quarters at Starfleet were certainly a cut above the dorm they'd most recently inhabited, but weren't anything to write home about, all the same.

 _Just meant there was more space in the corner for the mangy-looking tree that Jim had dragged back to the room,_  Bones reflects.

Jim nods. "For a fact, my friend." He looks searchingly at McCoy. "So… how about you? Are you going to get to talk to Jo-Jo tomorrow?" Bones can hear the concern in his voice, and it kind of goes right through him; seems that Jim's been doing a lot better job of worrying about him than he's done of worrying about Jim.

"Yeah, I fixed it with Joss so that I'll be able to have a video call with her late afternoon Georgia time. That oughta work out pretty well, since by then the shine will have worn off of all those new presents, and she might even be willing to stop playing with them and sit still long enough to talk to her Daddy."

Jim's finished his cocoa now, and if he notices that Bones is watching him a little more carefully than usual, he doesn't let on.

"You on duty tomorrow, Captain? Or can you hang out and spend part of Christmas with the crabbiest old bastard on the ship?"

"Yeah, I'm on – but not 'til Beta Shift, so we could get together for breakfast if you want, then hang around long enough for me to get to talk to Joanna too – if you want me to." Jim sounds more uncertain than his friend would like.

"Of course I want you to, you idiot. I  _asked_ , didn't I?" Bones smiles with exasperated fondness. "After all, besides Jo, you're the only real family I've got these days – and that's who you spend Christmas with, isn't it?"

Jim shrugs a little uncomfortably – but his answering smile is sincere enough. "Guess you're right. And I won't lie – it'll be good to spend the day with you. Kinda like old times."

Stretching, he yawns enormously; all at once, it's as though he's fighting to keep his eyes open.

"You been sleeping all right, Jim?" Bones has what Jim calls his "doctor voice," now.

"Yeah, well enough." Jim's being evasive – and yawning again.

"Liar. I waited in here for you all last night and you never came back to go to bed."

Jim tries for a saucy smirk; he fails pretty spectacularly, but manages a sleepy smile and forges ahead anyway. "So how do you know I wasn't keeping somebody else's bed warm for them last night? Everybody wants me, and you know it – after all, I did get voted 'Hottest Officer in Starfleet' this year."

Bones snorts. "Yeah, by that bunch of idiot fangirls – who obviously don't know a  _real_ man when they see one."

Jim's quiet laugh makes him smile for just a moment. "But I  _know_  you weren't warming anybody else's bed, Jim, because for better or for worse, that's just not how you fly, and we both know it. And because – well, I've got my own theories about why that is, but that's another story for another day."

McCoy stops then, hoisting himself out of the chair to sit next to Jim on the edge of his bed. Jim's swaying a little now, and looks almost ready to nod off.

"C'mon, you. Time for good little starship captains to go to sleep."

Jim blinks owlishly at him for a long moment – then freezes suddenly as a look of suspicion comes into those wide blue eyes.

"You son of a bitch," he slurs. "You put somethin' in the cocoa, didn't you?"

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't," his friend responds nonchalantly. "Good news is, you won't remember a bit of this in the morning anyway – so it doesn't much matter."

He reaches up to smooth the frown line between Jim's eyebrows with a surprisingly gentle brush of his thumb. "You know you need to go to sleep, Jim – and with you feeling the way you have been, you weren't gonna get any rest tonight. So now you will."

Jim's still fighting it, hard – and Bones puts on his most soothing voice as he pulls Jim to lean against him with one arm around his shoulders. "It's okay, Jim. Nothin' bad's gonna happen, I promise. You just go ahead and let go, all right? I'm here; I've got you."

He can feel Jim starting to relax into the sound of his words – this has always worked for him before, and it's working now.

"You can go ahead and go to sleep – you know how bad you want to. I'll stay right here, and I'll be here when you wake up. So you go on and close your eyes and relax, all right?"

"You promise?" Jim's eyes are drifting shut, his voice is barely a whisper.

"I promise," McCoy reassures him quietly. He's guiding Jim to swing his legs up onto the bed as he speaks, one arm supporting him from the back to keep him steady. "You sleep now, Jim."

He doesn't have to tell him again; Jim is out like a light already, his head dropping heavily back over Bones' supporting arm. McCoy lowers him the rest of the way down onto his pillow, pulling up the covers and smoothing them briefly before standing up and smiling down at his unconscious best friend.

"After all – Santa doesn't come when you're awake, Jimmy," he whispers. You should know that."

* * *

There's quite the group waiting for the doctor to come into Spock's quarters on the other side of the bathroom that he shares with Jim – Uhura, Chekov, Sulu, Scotty – but not, surprisingly, Spock himself. McCoy notices that rather conspicuous absence, but chooses not to comment on it.

"All right, people. He's out for the count for maybe an hour and a half, now – two hours at the outside. We need to get a move on before the drugs start to wear off."

"Seriously, Doctor?" Chekov is peering curiously over McCoy's shoulder into Jim's quarters. " _Nothing_  we do will wake the Keptin up?" He sounds intrigued.

"For the next couple hours? Not a damn thing. However," he turns to the young navigator with a scowl, "that does  _not_  mean you get to put makeup on him while he's sleeping, or whatever the hell it is that you teenagers do at slumber parties these days."

Chekov huffs a little and makes a show of looking affronted as they quietly make their way into the captain's quarters – but for all that, Uhura notices that he's not denying anything, either. She remembers those slumber party days well enough, and suppresses a smile at the thought of Kirk waking up wearing some truly heinous aqua eye shadow.

"I was always a fan of the 'hand in the bowl of warm water' trick myself," Sulu says to Chekov in a stage whisper – and Uhura giggles in spite of herself as McCoy smacks the pilot on the head with what looks to be a handful of Christmas stockings.

She glances around the room at the other members of the Command crew as they busy themselves decorating every possible surface in the captain's quarters. Somehow, Scotty has managed to tangle himself pretty spectacularly in a string of tiny flashing white lights, and now McCoy is helping Sulu wrangle a rather large potted plant through the door. It's not quite a Christmas tree – because they don't actually keep those in the Botany lab, unfortunately – but it's close enough in size and appearance that it'll do in a pinch.

Uhura has a little surprise of her own to add to the festive atmosphere as well, and hopes the others don't notice as she quietly fastens a small sprig of greenery to the top of a doorway. It was something she'd been saving for a Christmas celebration of her own – though as things have turned out, she's pretty sure she won't be needing it after all.

 _What the hell,_  she thinks.  _It might come in handy for somebody else, at least..._

Gradually, the room has gotten incredibly noisy; Uhura wonders if the others have somehow managed to forget that Jim really is  _right here_ , thanks so much. And sedatives or not, she can't believe Kirk could possibly be unaware of the barely-controlled chaos that is going on around him – but amazingly, he remains completely oblivious.

Shaking her head at herself, she muses that of all the things she's ever thought about the captain,  _he looks awfully sweet when he's sleeping_  has never before been on the list.

Chekov's voice calls her back into the moment. "Lt. Uhura, could you help me with this? It seems it is being a two-person job." He is over in the corner, working on installing what looks to be…  _is that a holographic fireplace_?

A swell of happiness – unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome – takes Uhura completely by surprise, and freezes her in her tracks for just a second. Honestly, she'd been pretty much certain that she'd be spending this holiday by herself, nursing her broken heart – and maybe making a significant dent in the case of red wine her sister had sent her as a gift from a trip she'd taken to the south of France.

Even as recently as this morning, she certainly would have never imagined that she'd be able to genuinely smile this Christmas – but she's doing just that right now, surrounded by what she suddenly realizes is a rather unlikely family putting together a truly bizarre – but altogether lovely – celebration.

"Absolutely, Ensign." She walks the few steps over to where Chekov is sitting cross-legged on the floor, glancing once more at the captain who, without realizing it, is turning this into a real Christmas for all of them.

"And… Pavel?" Kneeling next to Chekov, she graces him with a small, shy smile which surprises and charms him at the same time. "Please – call me Nyota."

 

* * *

 

The room is done, amazingly, in just over an hour – and after many exclamations of wonder and more than a few self-congratulatory high fives, the little group disperses for the night. McCoy stays behind after the others have gone – he told Jim he'd stay with him until he woke up, and he'd meant it.

They've got Jim's quarters fixed up so that Bones' favorite recliner is back in the corner, cast completely into shadow by the somewhat erratically blinking lights on the "tree" that it's been pushed behind. The light isn't much, but it's enough that McCoy is glad to have something to cover his eyes – even if it is, God help him, the bottom of a Santa hat that Scotty had shoved onto his head at some point during the proceedings. Where the hell Jim's yeoman had scared the hat up from is beyond him, and the doctor decides he probably doesn't want to know.

After all the commotion that has been going on for the past hour or so, the room seems almost unnaturally quiet, with only the ever-present muted hum of the  _Enterprise's_ engines and the sound of Jim's slow, steady breathing breaking the silence. The doctor takes a deep breath himself, relaxing farther into the well-worn leather of Jim's recliner.

McCoy is enjoying the stillness; he knows he really ought to try to get to sleep himself, but this moment is one he finds he wants to savor. This whole idea of doing Christmas for Jim was absolutely insane, and pulling it all together at the last minute has been just a  _huge_  pain in the ass – but the look on Jim's face in the morning when he sees all of this is going to make it all worthwhile, he just knows it.

He's more than a little surprised when it occurs to him that he hasn't felt like this since he was back in Georgia, helping Jo-Jo leave cookies and carrots for Santa and his reindeer – and though he knows he should probably feel like an idiot for being such a sap right now, the normally grouchy doctor can't bring himself to do anything but smile.

Just then, the sound of the door opening gets his attention – but McCoy remains absolutely still and completely silent, waiting to see who's there and what they want. Of course, he's pretty sure he already knows the answers to both those questions. After all, it's not the door from the main corridor that opens – it's the one from Spock's side of the quarters.

And sure enough, the silhouette that Bones can make out in the doorway could belong to no one but the hobgoblin; even if he didn't have that trademark stick-up-the-ass posture, the shadowy figure has Spock's distinctive pointed ears.

It's pretty clear to Bones that Spock has no idea that there's anyone in the room except for himself and Jim – and the doctor intends to keep it that way if at all possible, remaining motionless in his chair off in the darkened corner of the room. He waits to see what Spock will do, why he's here – but the dark shape in the door is equally still, soundlessly watching the gentle rise and fall of the blankets over Jim's chest in the flickering half-light of the room.

Minutes pass, then an hour – and yet Spock hasn't moved from his spot in the doorway. He's still there, watching Jim like a silent sentinel, when McCoy finally gives up and allows himself to fall asleep as well.

There'll be time enough to wonder about all of this in the morning.

* * *

When McCoy's internal alarm clock wakes him at 06:00, his first thought is of Jim – and to his relief, he's still sleeping, though now he's in his normal position, rolled over onto his side and facing the wall. He'd been pretty sure that Jim was tired enough last night that he'd stay asleep on his own even after the meds had worn off – and when it comes to his closest friend and most frequent patient, the doctor is almost always correct about such things.

Then another thought comes rushing back to him all at once, and his eyes snap to the doorway – but now the door has closed, and Spock is gone. Hard to say how long he'd remained there last night – but McCoy finds himself in the unusual position of wondering just exactly what had been going on in Spock's head all the while he'd stood there like a statue, just watching Jim sleep.

As a general rule, the less he knows about the inner workings of that Vulcan computer of a brain, the better he likes it – God knows it's taken him long enough to get used to the heart where a human's liver would be, not to mention the damn dual-chamber stomach.

But now that he's reasonably sure that at least of some those thoughts are concerning Jim – well, that's another story. Because Leonard McCoy will be double damned if he'll let that green-blooded machine hurt the best friend he's ever had.

Though, oddly enough, he finds himself thinking that this might actually – in some truly epically fucked-up way – turn out to be all right.

He's remembering the look on Spock's face back in Engineering yesterday morning, when they'd all heard how hurt Jim had been by what he'd perceived to be Spock's desertion. That hadn't been the face of somebody who  _wanted_  to hurt Jim – and somebody who didn't care about Jim Kirk wouldn't have spent hours standing vigil over him in the middle of the night, either.

_That was… hell, that was just plain nuts._

_But damned if it wasn't kind of sweet, at that._

Leonard smacks himself in the head – hard – to make that thought go away.

 _Jim… and the **hobgoblin**?_   _Good Lord._

McCoy shakes his head.  _Maybe stranger things have happened – but not in my lifetime._

Directing his wayward thoughts to more practical matters, he reaches down to his communicator and sends a text to the Command crew.

_ALMOST SHOWTIME, KIDS. GET ON BACK HERE._

 


	3. Silent Night

**_Christmas is the time to let your heart do the thinking.  
~Patricia Clafford_ **

Spock sits, cross-legged, in the corner of his quarters that he has set aside for meditation – though meditation is not coming easily.  It has not, in fact, come easily for several weeks, and if he wants to be perfectly honest with himself – _also, something that has not come easily recently_ – he knows why. 

He has a lot to think about, and Spock understands now that he has limited time to continue thinking, as he is in a situation that requires action. 

_Jim._

At the very least, he owes it to Jim to explain his behavior of late, though the thought of doing so is…




**_Not_ ** _terrifying.  Terror is a human emotion._

**_Daunting_ ** _, then, perhaps._

But exactly what action he will take – what he will say to Jim – that is another question altogether.  If he simply apologizes for how he has behaved toward Jim recently and attempts to return their relationship to their previous status of close friends, Spock is fairly sure that Jim will be curious as to why he had distanced himself to begin with.  He is also fairly sure, however, that Jim would respect Spock’s privacy enough not to ask him to explain himself. 

Jim, he reflects, is always remarkably sensitive to Spock’s needs – and how the physical and emotional requirements of a Vulcan would understandably differ from those of a human.  He always makes a special effort to make sure that the rest of the crew maintains a respectful distance, and routinely does his best to make Spock feel comfortable.

With a rush of something strongly resembling guilt, Spock realizes that he has made no such allowances for Jim’s emotional needs, for _his_ comfort.  When his own feelings toward Jim became too confusing – and frankly, too intense – for him to fully control, Spock made the decision to immediately discontinue all contact with Jim that was not directly related to their duties as Captain and First Officer. 

He must acknowledge now that he has, quite plainly, hurt Jim badly by his actions.

Moreover, he must also acknowledge that the feelings he sought to escape have not dissipated to any significant extent, nor have they become any easier to deal with.  The only facet of the situation that has become even remotely more tolerable is that when Jim is not in close physical proximity, Spock does not need to actively resist the desire to move closer still, to reach out and touch…

_Desire.  Another human emotion._

_And… love._

Squeezing his eyes tightly closed as in denial of having even thought of it, Spock shakes his head slightly.

He can hear Jim’s voice in his memory now, with the teasing protest he always makes whenever Spock denies experiencing emotions.  “After all, Spock – like it or not, you _are_ half human.”

He suspects that, even if he were fully Vulcan, somehow he would have come to love James Kirk.  Everything about the man is so vastly compelling – his amazing intellect, his instinctive ability to lead others, his eagerness to learn and experience new things, his enthusiasm for life.

Spock lets himself think about Jim – truly think about him, without trying to fight it – for the first time in a while; while somewhat disturbing, it is also strangely liberating. 

He thinks of Jim’s strength and courage, of his fierce dedication to duty – of his kindness and generosity, his unwavering loyalty and friendship.

He is not entirely sure when his thoughts wander to the memory of the first time he had looked at Jim and really seen him for all that he was.  But he recalls that in that moment – innocuous enough, really, as Jim had simply been conversing with Sulu and Chekov at the helm at the time – in that moment, Spock had found himself to be frozen in place, quite literally breathless. 

Jim was like nothing he had ever encountered, and the sudden shock of awareness of the beauty of Jim’s lean, muscled physique, the brilliant blue of his eyes, the ease and grace with which he carried himself…

It was, quite simply, as if he somehow had never truly seen Jim before.  A sensation that could only be described as raw, visceral _want_ had surged through Spock then, utterly without warning.

The experience had been profoundly startling; he had promptly turned away, hoping that his unusual reaction had not been noted by anyone.  Of course, he had not been so fortunate; Spock had turned to his station to find Nyota’s questioning, penetrating gaze upon him. 

He should have known, even then, that he was lost.

He realizes that there is truly only one course of action available to him; even though he cannot be sure of Jim’s own feelings, he will have to confess to Jim that the _Enterprise’s_ first officer has fallen irrevocably in love with his captain. 

Knowing Jim as he does, he is not entirely without hope that his regard might be reciprocated – but he cannot be sure, and it is this gnawing incertitude that made him distance himself from Jim to begin with, and that is causing him to hesitate even now. 

Nonetheless, Spock also knows that even if Jim does not feel the same way toward him, he will be kind – and they can eventually find a way to rebuild some sort of a relationship.

But just the thought of telling Jim – of making himself so shockingly vulnerable…

_Yes, terror is a human emotion._

“After all, Spock – like it or not, you _are_ half human.”  The memory of Jim’s voice is almost taunting him.

And Nyota is correct – again.  He is, in fact, terrified.

At any rate, Spock’s discussion with Jim will have to wait for at least a while; at this moment, he can hear the raised voices and laughter coming from the captain’s quarters in the adjoining suite as their colleagues prepare a Christmas surprise for Jim.  Dr. McCoy has evidently administered a potent sedative to the captain without his knowledge, so that everyone could enter Jim’s room and make the necessary arrangements without fear of disturbing him.

Spock is not entirely sure that he approves of Dr. McCoy’s actions; after all, rendering the captain unconscious without his consent – and without medical justification – seems more than a little unethical and definitely counter to the Hippocratic Oath.  However, he knows that he must also allow for the deep and abiding friendship that has obviously existed between Jim and Leonard McCoy for years – and for Spock’s own certain knowledge, born of repeated experience, that McCoy would never allow harm to come to Jim. 

The doctor obviously feels that he is acting in Jim’s best interests – and whether or not Spock agrees with McCoy’s treatment of Jim at any given time, he has to admit that the doctor’s instincts regarding his best friend are usually very nearly flawless.

Though he has willingly allowed his own quarters to be used as what his colleagues are referring to as their “staging area” for this surprise, Spock has respectfully declined to join them in decorating Jim’s quarters – feeling sure that this activity is best left to the others, who have a much better idea of what they are trying to achieve.

The idea of Christmas itself is not entirely unfamiliar to Spock – on the contrary, in fact.  His mother had always managed to find some small way to observe the holiday, even in the face of the disapproval – manifesting itself in the form of the subtle, sneering derision that Vulcans seemed to have turned into an art form – of their neighbors and his father’s associates. 

Sarek himself had neither condoned nor condemned Amanda’s quiet celebration of Christmas – but it had been made abundantly clear to Spock at an early age that the idea of taking part in any sort of “holiday” was not appropriate for a Vulcan.  Nonetheless, Spock also knew that he could expect a small gift of some sort from his mother – usually an article of clothing that she had made for him herself, or something else that was eminently practical – every year in observance of Christmas day. 

Looking back, he is certain that her solitary celebrations must have been difficult for Amanda; hearing Jim’s quiet confession to Scott about his disappointed hopes for the day has brought painful reflections about how similar his mother’s feelings might have been. 

That going to Vulcan and living in the midst of such a different civilization was a choice Amanda had made gladly – yes, that thought helps Spock, just as it always does.  His mother had chosen a life with Sarek, knowing full well what that life would entail – and she had never regretted it.

Jim had been allowed no such opportunities to choose his family circumstances, much less how to celebrate the Christmas holiday, Spock knows.  Spock is hit with the irony of their respective situations; for all that Spock had always taken his mother’s observation of the holiday for granted – and, yes, he may have regarded it with typical Vulcan dismissiveness on more than one occasion – he actually had experienced more family Christmas celebrations on Vulcan than Jim ever had on Earth.

This reflection proves to be painful, as well.

He wonders briefly if the others have interpreted his absence from the frenzy of decorating Jim’s quarters as disapproval of their actions before dismissing such thoughts as unproductive and unnecessary.  In fact, he does not disapprove – though he finds the methods used by his colleagues to be highly illogical and somewhat dubious ethically, it is plain that everything that is being done tonight is motivated by a profound and very sincere love for Jim on the part of his friends. 

That said, he also suspects that he would be next to useless in this situation; Spock is well aware that his limited experience with the holiday has given him no idea of what “real” Christmas decorations should look like – and he is fairly sure that the decorating that the Command crew is doing in Jim’s quarters right now is significantly more than what would normally be considered tasteful or appropriate even by human standards. 

And if he wants to be truthful with himself – which is, of course, only logical – Spock must admit that he finds himself feeling like an outsider just now in this little group.  At moments such as this – when they are engaging is what is so thoroughly a Terran ritual – he experiences the sensation of being different from the other members of this tightly-knit Command crew.  That feeling – of being neither fully human nor fully Vulcan, and therefore truly belonging to neither culture – is something that he has nearly never experienced since joining the crew of the _Enterprise_.

 _Because of Jim._   From the very beginning – before they were friends, before they had even developed a comfortable working relationship as Captain and First – Jim had made Spock feel accepted.  More than that – he had made Spock feel valued, respected… _necessary_.

And without realizing it, Jim himself had, in the process, become entirely necessary to Spock.

Breathing deeply and trying to shut out the muffled clamor from the next room, Spock resumes his attempts at meditation – and tries to figure out how to explain to Jim just exactly _how_ necessary he is.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Approximately 55.4 minutes later, Spock realizes that his meditation tonight has, in fact, been more successful than it has been in the recent past; he had indeed managed to block the noise from the room next door from his awareness and to achieve some measure of calm – a sensation which is most welcome.

He is somewhat surprised to note that there is currently no sound coming through the door; the crew seems to have left Jim’s quarters.  Spock would not have imagined that the somewhat elaborate plans they had formulated during the course of the day could have been implemented in less than one hour, but of course, the crew of the _Enterprise_ always exceeds expectations – and this situation would be no exception.

For all his unwillingness to participate in the decoration of Jim’s room, Spock finds himself feeling an unusual curiosity to see what, in fact, his colleagues ended up doing in the way of making the captain’s quarters suitably festive for the Christmas holiday.  He looked up at the chronometer – McCoy had warned the crew that they had a limited window of opportunity to work without waking Jim.  “Maybe an hour and a half, two hours at the outside,” he’d said.

That had been approximately 77 minutes ago – still comfortably within the time frame specified by the doctor.  If Spock wishes to satisfy his curiosity, he can, he supposes, go quietly into Jim’s quarters and observe the work that has been done there without fear of waking his captain. 

He does indeed wish to satisfy his curiosity.  Rising gracefully from his spot on the floor, Spock walks through the bathroom that he shares with Jim and opens the door into the captain’s room.

For all that he had expected a great deal of change in the appearance of the familiar room, he is nonetheless taken aback by the transformation that has been wrought by his colleagues in such a short time.  What looks to be a working fireplace – but which, on closer observation, turns out to be a well-crafted hologram – crackles cheerfully in one corner. 

A wave of pain – the same one that has been his since he lost his mother – goes through Spock now, as he thinks of his parents.  He has no doubt – none whatever – that his father would give anything to have one of Amanda’s Christmas celebrations now, and that he would gladly have a stocking hung from every window in his home if it meant that he could have his wife back again.

From his vantage point in the doorway, he looks more closely at the stockings, and notes with some surprise that there seems to be one hanging there for each member of the Command crew – even, amazingly, one for Spock himself.  He finds himself wondering if Nyota had been responsible for including him – and feeling unexpected gratitude at being made a part of the celebration even though he had not been involved in its creation.

Spock can see from the various flora that adorn the room that Lt. Sulu has made ample use of specimens from the Botany lab – though the evergreen garlands that hang from nearly every surface are, at second glance, actually artificial.  That comes as a relief to Spock, for though he does not disapprove of the decorating of Jim’s quarters, he would have to have issued a reprimand if anyone had destroyed living plant specimens for the purposes of using them as ornamental objects. 

Of course, he should have known that Sulu would behave responsibly, especially regarding the lab and the plants therein.  He is a scientist as well as a pilot, and would not jeopardize any of the current experiments taking place in the lab.

The oversized Arfillian ficus which stands in another corner of the room is also from Botany, Spock realizes – but it is no longer being used in experiments, and has long been moved off to one side of the lab and regarded as more or less an ornamental plant. 

In its current state, it is certainly more than ornamental; small, sparkling baubles of various shapes and colors are tied to the branches of the small tree with bits of wire, and the entire plant is wrapped in strands of what Spock recognizes as the same lights that are used to illuminate the landing pads in the shuttle bay.  The lights – small and white – have somehow been programmed to flash now, though the flashing seems to come at disconcertingly irregular intervals.

If Mr. Scott was responsible for that programming, Spock thinks, he should certainly have known better; the random flashing of the lights in the room, regardless of their relative dimness, could disturb Jim’s rest.

_Jim._

Somehow, Spock has managed to stand in this doorway for nearly four minutes without directing his attention to the captain – as if he’d known that, once he looked at Jim, he would not be willing to look away again.

And of course, this is entirely true; for all his supposed curiosity to see the decorations in Jim’s quarters, Spock has to admit to himself that he had come in for one reason, and one reason only.  His eyes move to the still figure lying quietly on the bed, and he looks at Jim as though he could never get enough of looking.

He is reasonably sure that, in fact, he truly could never tire of watching Jim – and his own actions in the past few weeks have deprived him of many of his usual opportunities to see his captain, and his friend.  If Jim has missed Spock, then Spock has missed him every bit as much – even if it is he who has imposed the distance between them.

So now, tonight – the opportunity to simply _see_ Jim, to watch him unobserved and without fear of any repercussions, has proven to be simply irresistible.  Spock finds that yet again, he is frozen in place by the sheer beauty of Jim.

Usually, Jim is constantly in motion – walking, running, or simply (in McCoy’s words) fidgeting.  Spock has never minded this; he has only recently admitted to himself that has always enjoyed watching Jim move.  But now, in this moment, Jim is almost entirely still – the only observable motion being the gentle rise and fall of his respiration.  The graceful body is completely at rest – the brilliant blue eyes closed – and yet Jim is still utterly beautiful.

 _He would object most strenuously,_ Spock muses, _to my current line of thought;_ _Jim is self-effacing and – yes – somewhat endearingly self-conscious about his appearance._

But Jim is unaware of his presence at the moment – unaware of anything at all, for as long as McCoy’s medications remain effective.  And to use still more of McCoy’s words, what Jim doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Spock sighs, slowly shaking his head; it has come to this.  His thought processes have become so thoroughly disrupted by his emotional turmoil that he is borrowing words from Leonard McCoy.

But then, finally, his thought processes slow to almost nothing, and Spock loses himself in simply watching Jim lying quietly in front of him, listening to the soft, steady sounds of his breathing…

And finally, _finally_ – he allows himself just to stand there and to love Jim without reservation, letting the feeling crash over him in waves.  The sensation is overwhelming – but, for the first time, Spock is not afraid of what he is experiencing.  He is learning the lesson that his father never taught him, but could have; that love is worth risk, worth pain, worth sacrifice.

Amanda was worth all of those things – and so much more – to Sarek.

Jim is worth everything – everything – to Spock.  For just a moment, he wishes that Jim would awaken now, so that Spock could tell him all of the truths he so badly needs to hear.  If he were to walk the few steps over to Jim’s bed right now, reach down and touch him…

 _But, no.  Jim has been exceptionally tired of late, and requires his rest._   Anything Spock has to say to Jim can certainly wait until morning.  With a start of surprise, Spock sees that he has been standing motionless in Jim’s doorway now for nearly two hours; though he is entirely sure that he could gladly stand there all night and observe Jim, he also knows that it would prove awkward if Jim were to awaken and see him doing so.

Then, a soft sigh makes Spock start yet again; the sound had very clearly been that of a sleeping man, but had not come from Jim. 

Of course.  McCoy would not have left Jim after having administered sedation – and Spock does not know why that had not previously occurred to him.  Looking briefly around the room again, he realizes that the doctor has been concealed in the darkness behind the garishly-lit ficus tree – and that his own preoccupation with Jim has kept him from noticing his presence earlier.

He wonders briefly if McCoy had known he was here – but, of course he had.  Spock has known the doctor long enough to know that, for all that his logic is sorely lacking, he is highly perceptive for a human.  Under other circumstances, Spock might have felt somewhat embarrassed at having exposed his emotions so thoroughly in front of someone else; tonight, however, he cannot bring himself to care.

Moreover, he is reasonably sure that for whatever reason, Jim’s best friend is not overly concerned about the situation; if he had been, he almost certainly would have made his presence known, demanded that Spock leave the room.  Instead, he had sat quietly, concealed in the darkness, until he had fallen asleep along with Jim. 

Spock does not attempt to interpret McCoy’s reactions, or lack thereof; there will be sufficient time for that later, should it become necessary.  For now, Spock determines that he should at least attempt to sleep for a while as well.

In the morning, however, he will find time to get Jim alone – and Jim will finally hear the truth from Spock.


	4. You Better Not Pout

_" **To perceive Christmas through its wrapping becomes more difficult with every year."**_

_~E.B. White_

 

* * *

 

Jim's senses don't all wake up at once.

For instance, right now he can smell the distinctive combination of antiseptic and the baby shampoo that Bones has never stopped using because it reminds him of Jo-Jo; his best friend is somewhere very close by, and that's reassuring enough to Jim that he lets himself be pulled further back into sleep again.

...

He's not sure how long he's been asleep when he wakes up this time; there's a familiar sensation of being somewhat – for lack of a better term -  _fuzzier_  than usual. That's typically his first clue that Bones probably got to him last night with one of his hypos or something similar.

_Interfering bastard._

Bones has stayed nearby, he knows; Jim can still smell him, and now he feels the gentle pressure of a warm hand on his shoulder, and strong fingers softly carding through his hair.

Jim's awake enough by now to smile at that, just a little; first of all, because it feels really damn good – and secondly, because Bones is shooting his hard-ass image all to hell right about now.

"You're  _petting_  me again, Bones," he mumbles into the pillow, eyes still closed. His voice – not much more than a whisper right now – is a little gravelly from lack of use, but try though he might, he's totally unable to sound even remotely grumpy.

_Sleepy, yes. Grumpy, not so much._

Because in addition to being a little fuzzy, Jim's also aware of feeling much more rested than he has in days. And that really does feel pretty awesome – so he probably can't fault Bones too much.

Not that he won't bitch about it later, anyway – because he so totally will.

Jim's smile grows at the sound of Bones' uncharacteristically warm chuckle in response to his "complaining"; seriously, if people had any idea of what a complete marshmallow he could be when nobody was looking, his CMO might never live it down.

"Merry Christmas, kid." He hasn't opened his eyes yet, but Jim can hear the lingering smile in Bones' voice. "How're you feelin' this morning?"

Jim sighs and burrows even more firmly into his pillow by way of reply. "Good," he murmurs. "Slept. So… yeah. Good."

"Glad to hear it. You needed it." The fingers stop stroking Jim's hair, and the hand on his shoulder squeezes a little. "But you're gonna need to wake up now, 'cause there are some folks waitin' to have a Christmas morning with you."

That is totally unexpected – Jim's eyes fly open, and he rolls toward Bones to see if he's really serious.

_Holy fuck._

Bones is in –  _really?_

A  _Santa_  hat?

But the shock of that only lasts for a fraction of a second, as the rest of the room behind his friend comes into focus all at once – only it really isn't focusing; Jim is squeezing his eyes shut and blinking them open again, because he can't  _possibly_  be seeing this.

Yeah, he'd done a pretty good job in years past of making his and Bones' quarters at the Academy look like Christmas had staggered into the room and thrown up – it had driven Bones fucking crazy, but it had been fun in spite of that.

_Hell, it had been fun_ _**because** _ _of that._

This, though…

Somehow, there isn't a surface in this room that hasn't been bedecked in one way or another, and it's insane.

There's a fucking  _fireplace_  – with  _stockings_ , no less – over in the corner where his desk is supposed to be. His desk isn't anywhere to be seen – and that could be a problem.

And… holy shit, is that a  _Christmas_  tree? Well, no – on second glance, not really – but it's doing its damnedest to impersonate one, and is absolutely covered with what might be ornaments, and what definitely used to be landing strip lights from the shuttle bay.

The room –  _the whole damn room_  – is just absolutely  _dripping_  with garlands, and wreaths, and tinsel, and bows, and twinkling little lamps designed to look like candles. It's all so completely overdone, so over-the-top garish, that it's terrifying and awesome at the same time – and it puts his efforts at the Academy to shame.

Now Bones is laughing, just a little – and Jim realizes that he must have a pretty shell-shocked look on his face. Closing his mouth again – not having really noticed that it had dropped open to begin with – he shakes his head in disbelief.

That's when he sees them – and shoots up in bed so fast that for just a moment he has little flashing lights in his field of vision. Because there, just inside his doorway, is…

…Well, pretty much fucking  _everybody_. Scotty's there, and Chekov, and Sulu.

 _So, all right, not everybody_  – but certainly not who Jim's expecting in his room when he wakes up on Christmas morning.

_On **any**  morning, really._

"Merry Christmas, Keptin!" God love him, Chekov sounds just like the kid he still is, really – he's just 18, after all – and is looking almost unbearably excited.

Jim finally finds his voice – though it's not easy. "Merry Christmas yourself, Ensign." He gives them all what he knows must be a pretty half-assed grin; he still can't wrap his brain around what the _fuck_  is going on here. "Like the outfit, Mr. Chekov."

Because as he looks again, he realizes that with the exception of Bones – who looks as though he probably slept in the sweater and jeans he had on last night – they're all in their pajamas. Sulu and Scotty have on outfits that are similar to his own – old t-shirts and baggy flannel pants – but Chekov?  _Holy shit._  Chekov has gone all out in honor of the holiday; or at least Jim sure as hell _hopes_  that's the reason why the kid is wearing red and green footie pajamas with a pattern of polar bears and penguins.

"Thank you, Keptin. They are my Christmas pajamas."

"In answer to the unspoken question I see in your head, Jim, no – he doesn't usually wear them. Promise." Sulu is taking this whole situation in with what seems to be quiet amusement – and for all that Jim is still just confused as all hell, it's nice to see Sulu looking happy. It's been a while.

Jim crawls out from under the covers to sit on the edge of his bed, and Bones throws an arm around his shoulder. "So, infant – this is payback for all the Christmas mornings I woke up with tinsel hanging from places that we won't mention."

He gives Jim another quick squeeze before letting go. "What do you think of our decorating?"

"Amazing – no other word for it." Jim shakes his head. "Well, actually – there are probably quite a few other words for it, but none that I'd want to use on Christmas morning."

He gives Scotty a suspicious look. " _Tell_  me that you didn't pull up the lights in Shuttle Bay B to put them on the tree."

"I'd  _never_ do such a thing, Captain – you wound me." Scotty clasps a hand to his chest as though to staunch the flow of imaginary blood before giving Jim an exaggerated wink. "It was Shuttle Bay F – and you know yourself they were due for replacement anyway, so there's no harm done."

"No harm done." Jim finds himself shaking his head again and again – as though somehow he's going to clear it, and this is all going to make sense somehow. It doesn't, though. Not yet.

"So I suppose you're going to tell me that you all managed to come in here and do this while I was asleep last night?" At their gleeful nods, Jim reaches up and delivers a satisfying thump to the side of McCoy's head. "I knew you slipped me something last night, you bastard – it must have been pretty heavy-duty."

Bones is rubbing his head, but still grinning unrepentantly. "Oh, absolutely. 'Course, didn't hurt that you were already so damned exhausted that you were probably almost comatose anyway – I just speeded up the process a little."

It still doesn't make sense – not any of it. Not that it isn't fantastic – it is, and Jim loves it, really he does. But none of the pieces fit together; this is more than just unexpected. It's a little weird, and the same instincts that have gotten Jim out of more scrapes than anyone would believe who hadn't seen it for themselves – well, those instincts are telling him that there's something going on that he doesn't get yet, but that's important all the same.

"What about Uhura?" Bones is talking to Chekov now. "She coming soon?"

" _Da_  – she said there was something she needed to finish, but that she will be here a few minutes after we are."

Jim can only imagine the expression he'd gotten on his face during that exchange. "Uhura? Coming down here? For – for  _Christmas?_ " God help him, that last question had actually ended on a little bit of an embarrassingly unmanly squeak. Because unless she's secretly coming to poison him or something, he can't imagine a reason for her joining them for a holiday celebration.

All at once, the klaxons start going off in his head – something is way,  _way_  off. And if he looks again, now that the first confusion of the surprise has passed, Jim can see Scotty looking at him with what is definitely self-consciousness, and might be a hint of… is that guilt?

Sulu and Chekov are paying more attention to him – and to one another – than he's seen either of them do for weeks, now. Which isn't bad – of course it's not – but...

Something doesn't add up, and he doesn't know yet what it is, but Jim is sure that he's  _justthisclose_  to figuring it out.

He turns then to glance at his best friend. And Bones – well, behind that cheesy "Merry Christmas" smile he's working right now, Bones looks a little too concerned. Even for him.

All of these thoughts have been rolling through his head at warp speed, and nobody's really even paying attention to Jim when the light bulb goes off for him.

 _Because... yeah._  Jim knows that his behavior's been far enough off-kilter for the past few days that his closest friends might have noticed, even if they hadn't said anything.

_But… oh, God._

If they've done all this Christmas stuff out of some misguided notion that they need to feel sorry for him – well, then that's nothing less than humiliating. Horrifying.

And, no doubt,  _exactly_  what has just happened.

Jim feels his stomach starting to churn a little, and hopes he's not flushing with the embarrassment that has totally overwhelmed him all at once. Embarrassment, anger – and a sudden, almost irresistible urge to just go off on all of them, and to start throwing things.

He recognizes immediately, though, that if they went to all this trouble – regardless of what motivated them – he simply can't throw a fit about it, not now. It'd ruin Christmas for everybody, and… well, shit. He can't fault them for trying to be friends.

But the last thing – the very, very last thing – Jim  _ever_  wants is their pity.

This – the blinking lights, the omnipresent fucking tinsel, the nervousness behind the holiday cheer... all of it – it's just too much right now. Jim knows he's going to have to go through with this whole Christmas morning, but at just this moment, it's more than he can handle, and he feels the walls of his quarters start to close in on him.

Somehow, he's got to get out of here, and  _fast_  – at least long enough to pull his head back together. That, however, is going to take some doing, as there aren't too many ways to do that without arousing at least a little suspicion.

After all, it _is_  his room.

Then inspiration - or as close as he's probably going to get to it this morning - strikes.

"Not to be anti-social, guys," Jim does his best to project nonchalance, "but if I don't get up and hit the john pretty soon, you're all gonna have a Christmas surprise that none of you will want."

As he'd hoped, they all laugh – but even now, he sees Bones looking at him funny out of the corner of his eye, seeming to realize all at once that, yeah – Jim's figured out what's really going on. Seriously – the guy's his best friend. Did he really think Jim was that clueless?

Hoisting himself off the bed, he makes his way across the room and into the bathroom, where he immediately closes the door that leads to his quarters – quietly sealing it with the code that only he as captain can override. He's a grown man; he's a fucking  _Starfleet officer_ , for Christ's sake. And he's locked himself into the toilet like a five-year-old.

And for the moment, Captain James Tiberius Kirk doesn't really know how long he can get by with hiding in his bathroom – but he's willing to try to find out.


	5. Home for the Holidays

**_We cannot do great things on this Earth, only small things with great love.  
~Mother Teresa_ **

Fourteen minutes – that’s still a reasonable time to be in the bathroom, Jim thinks. 

Probably.

Now, granted, he’s pretty sure the gang in his room is going to be engaging in some pretty colorful speculation about what exactly is going on in there; he’s glad he doesn’t have to hear it.

And there isn’t any way in hell Jim’s going to get through this morning without some sort of pretty serious embarrassment – that’s becoming increasingly clear.

Then –

_Oh, shit._

The other door – _because of course, you idiot, the room has two fucking doors_ – slides open, and Jim realizes that he hadn’t even _begun_ to think about exactly how embarrassing this morning could get.

Spock – _also of course, because who else would it be_ – is on the other side of the door, and the first thing that Jim notices is that the first officer doesn’t seem particularly surprised to open up the bathroom door to see his captain perched on the edge of the sink.

The second thing he notices – and now Jim is the one who’s a little surprised – is that Spock is out of uniform, in loose-fitting black pants and a tailored black tunic that might actually have been what he’d slept in. 

He’s rarely seen Spock in anything but his Science blues – and somewhere in the back of his mind, Jim finds himself thinking that Spock looks absolutely amazing in black.

_Shit, shit, shit._

Jim starts to fumble an apology for the inconvenience – to figure out a way to get the hell out of there without raising way too much of a fuss – when Spock renders him utterly speechlesswith a wordless shake of his head that lets Jim know that he wants him to come with him into his quarters.

That’s probably the very last thing he’d expected – but it works.  At any rate, it beats hanging out in the bathroom. 

 

 

Spock has been awake now for well over an hour, but has refrained from beginning his usual morning routine of showering and changing into his uniform – choosing instead to remain quietly in his room, listening intently so as not to miss any unusual sounds that come from Jim’s quarters.  He is not entirely sure when the others planned to awaken him with their surprise – McCoy had made the rather odd statement that they would “play it by ear” in the morning based on how well Jim was sleeping.

Spock had started hearing movementnext door approximately 24 minutes ago – and had heard Jim’s door to their bathroom open and then close again about ten minutes thereafter.  For the past 14.7 minutes, however, there has been an unusual lack of sound coming from their shared bathroom – Spock has become accustomed to the sounds of Jim’s morning routine, and those have been notably absent.

Spock has a moment of realization – Jim, he is certain, is not in the bathroom to attend to any of his physical needs.  Basing his hypothesis in what he considers to be his fairly thorough understanding of Jim’s thought processes, he determines that it is highly likely that Jim has, instead, retreated to the bathroom -- perhaps to avoid an uncomfortable situation in his own quarters.

It had occurred to Spock last night that Jim might well be somewhat overwhelmed by awakening this morning to the surprise of having his quarters transformed in such an extreme fashion as he had slept.  For all that it has become clear to everyone that Jim greatly enjoys the Christmas holiday, this unexpected celebration could, at least initially, cause him significant disequilibrium.

Furthermore, he wonders if McCoy and Scott,in their understandable enthusiasm, might not have underestimated Jim’s almost preternatural perceptiveness; if they think that Jim will simply enjoy the surprise without questioning the motivation behind it, Spock suspects that they will find themselves to be sorely mistaken.

Now, 15.2 minutes have passed since Jim entered their bathroom, and Spock wonders if Jim had considered how he would get out of the room once he had gone in.  Probably not, he decides – it had likely been the only way Jim could think of getting out from under the scrutiny of his well-intentioned friends on such short notice.

If nothing else, Spock can provide Jim with another means of escape, should he so desire.  Moving across the room, he opens his own door to the bathroom – hoping that he is correct in his assumption about Jim’s motives for being there, and that he will not instead be interrupting Jim in the middle of an awkward moment.

The door swishes open, revealing Jim – still in his sleeping clothes – sitting on the edge of their sink.  He looks shocked and almost guilty to have been discovered there, and Spock finds himself almost overcome with an unexpected(and entirely un-Vulcan) rush of warm affection.  At this moment, Jim appears much younger than his 26.15 years, and Spock is reminded of a word his mother had often used to describe him when he was a child.

_Adorable._

Without further thought, Spock takes a step back from the door, beckoning Jim to come into his quarters.  Round-eyed with surprise, Jim wordlessly slips down from the countertop and follows Spock, closing the bathroom door behind them.

 

 

The ensuing silence between them isn’t exactly awkward, but Jim feels the need to break it, all the same.

“Umm…  I guess you’re wondering what I was doing in there?”

“If I am correct in my supposition,” Spock counters,“you had excused yourself to our bathroom in order to buy yourself some time to absorb what had happened to your quarters as you slept last night.”

Jim freezes, a look of absolute astonishment on his face.  “That’s...” he sputters. 

He stops, shakes his head, tries again.  “You’re exactly right – but, how the hell did you _know_ that?”

Spock pauses, looking somewhat perturbed – though Jim knows even now that it’s not an expression that most people would notice on him.  Spock is nothing if not subtle.

“How did I know?” Spock’s voice is quiet, and his eyes drop to examine the carpet.  “As my counterpart has been known to say to you, Jim, I have been and always shall be your friend.”

He pauses again.  “Regardless of what you might think, Jim, I _am_ your friend.  As such, I believe I have developed sufficient understanding of your way of thinking to be able to predict many of your actions with a reasonable degree of accuracy.”

He looks up again, and Jim is astonished to see the pain in Spock’s eyes – he didn’t know what he’d expected when he’d followed Spock in here, but it surely wasn’t this.

“However, I think you would be compelled to agree with me, Jim, when I say that I have not behaved of late as a friend should do.”  He sighs – again, startling the hell out of Jim, who is almost completely unaccustomed to such displays of emotion from Spock, however subdued they might be.

“Spock…” Jim trails off awkwardly, realizing that he has no idea what he’d planned to say to begin with.  He just wants to say something – _do_ something – to take that look off of Spock’s face. 

“Jim.”  Spock glances away again, appearing every bit as uncomfortable as Jim feels – but the fact that he’s still talking at all is just all kinds of surprising.  Usually, discomfort makes Spock clam up pretty quickly, and God knows this is uncomfortable. 

But then again, Jim is finding that his first officer seems to be full of surprises this morning. 

“I owe you, Jim, both an explanation and an apology for my behavior toward you of late.  Through no fault of your own – no fault at all – I have created a distance between the two of us, and have, I believe, caused you pain.”

Jim has given up altogether on trying to make intelligent conversation, now – every word out of Spock’s mouth is stunning him into silence, again and again.  He knows he’s probably standing there gaping at Spock like an idiot, and he can’t help it.

Spock, amazingly, seems undeterred by Jim’s lack of response.  “The apology I offer to you immediately and unreservedly, Jim – I truly regret my actions, and will do whatever I can in future to right the wrong that I have done to you and to our friendship.” 

He looks now toward Jim’s quarters, almost as though he expects the Command crew to come bursting through the bathroom.  “The explanation, however, must wait – I feel certain that it will require significantly more time than we currently have.  As you know, the crew has taken great pains to create a surprise for you in honor of the Christmas holiday, and I have reason to believe they will be disappointed if we do not join them soon.”

_Shit._   The past couple minutes with Spock had actually made this whole Christmas clusterfuck fly right out of his head, and that’s just nuts.

“Yeah, I know.  They’re going to think I fell in or something.”  Jim makes an unsuccessful attempt at a laugh before pausing, running a distracted hand through his hair.  “Just… _damn_.  I wish to hell they hadn’t done it.  Or at least not because they felt sorry for me.  I don’t need that.”

Spock looks surprised now.  “You believe that the crew’s actions were motivated by feelings of _pity_ for you?”

Jim snorts in response.  “You can’t seriously expect me to believe otherwise, can you?  All of – hell, all of _that?_   Out of nowhere?”  He shakes his head, hearing the bitterness in his own voice.  “That’s not a coincidence, Spock.  Don’t try to tell me that it is, because that’s bullshit and you know it.”

“Such was not my intention, Jim.”  Spock sure doesn’t look as though Jim has just damn near bitten his head off – he continues, unfazed.

“Of course it was not a coincidence.  But neither was it done out of some misguided notion that you required sympathy; you must know your colleagues well enough to know that they would not behave in such a fashion toward you.  We all know _you_ well enough to realize that you do not, and have never, wished for pity – and that you would not willingly accept it were it offered to you.”

Spock’s right, of course – _when isn’t he?_

They _do_ know him.  They’re more than his crew; they’re his friends, all of them, and they wouldn’t patronize him.  But try as he might, Jim still can’t make sense of what they’ve done – and what prompted them to do it out of the blue like this. 

And dammit, he needs to be able to do that if he’s going to face them again.

“You still require further insight as to why our colleagues felt the need to provide you with this celebration.”  Spock makes it a statement instead of a question, and Jim feels an ache in his chest as he realizes all at once just how much he’s missed this over these past few weeks – having Spock simply _get_ him in a way that nobody else does. 

_It’s been… well, shit.  It’s been **lonely**_.  And honestly, Jim doesn’t really get why he’s suddenly got Spock back – but for now, he’ll take Spock’s word for it that he’ll explain later.  In the meantime, Jim is willing to just enjoy how good it feels to have his friend again – and, if he cares to admit it to himself, how amazing it is to have those beautiful, expressive dark eyes focused so intently upon him.

Jim nods.  “Yeah, Spock – I do.  Maybe that’s immature, or ungracious, or something – but I really do.”

“It is none of those things, Jim.  I find it rather to be completely understandable.”  Spock walks toward two somewhat austere-looking chairs in one corner, seating himself gracefully in one and indicating that Jim should be seated in the other.  “As it happens, I am in a position to provide you with at least most of the information you require, should you wish an explanation.”

Wordlessly, Jim sits, another nod his only response.  Spock correctly interprets this gesture as an invitation to begin.

“What do you remember about your activities two nights previously, when you and Mr. Scott had a discussion in Engineering?”

This can’t be going anywhere good, and Jim knows it. “Next to nothing, unfortunately.  We put away an obscene amount of scotch, and I don’t remember much between the time Scotty and I opened that first bottle and the next morning when I woke up… somewhere else.”

Spock inclines his head in acknowledgment.  “It is, then, as I suspected.  However, your actions – and your conversation – of that evening provided much of the impetus for the events of last night.”

"Sounds like you’ve got the information, so you’d better go ahead and tell me about it.”

 

 

Although Spock fully understands Jim’s need to know more about the events leading up to the Christmas surprise his friends have prepared for him, he wishes all the same that he was not the one who had to provide the explanation; there is no way he can state the case that will not, at least at first, cause Jim a great deal of discomfort.

However, he reflects that he is probably the best suited of all of them to communicate this to Jim, as he will be able to do so without many of the emotional undertones that any of the others would have been unable to avoid.  He can state the facts of what happened clearly, concisely, and without elaboration – which is, he believes, what Jim requires at this time.

And as uncomfortable as the situation is – however difficult this explanation will prove to be – Spock has to admit to himself that it is undeniably pleasant to speak to Jim as a friend again, after the long weeks of cold, artificially professional communication to which he had limited their interactions.

 It is gratifying to note that Jim seems to be equally pleased to have resumed something like their normal conversational style; Spock sees Jim observing him with exceptional thoroughness, as if he has not seen Spock in quite some time, and is relearning the details of his appearance.  Of course, they have continued to see one another – albeit briefly – several times a week, so Jim would not really have forgotten what Spock looked like. 

However, Spock understands; he finds himself looking at Jim in much the same fashion.  It seems almost ridiculous in retrospect that he had ever believed that distancing himself from Jim would somehow lessen the deep regard – the profound love – that Spock has come to feel for him.  He should have known better.

Sitting here, talking to Jim again just as if nothing had ever been wrong between them – acting as his confidant and advisor, just as he always had – it is, quite simply, right.  It is where Spock needs to be.

But Jim is waiting for an explanation.

“In order for you to understand the situation fully, I need to begin by recounting the events of yesterday morning, and what went on in Meeting Room C in Engineering…”

Once he begins, Spock knows that he cannot stop until he has told Jim everything about their evening with Mr. Scott – but it is proving very difficult to do so.  He is careful not to go into great detail – Jim does not need to know exactly what he said, or exactly how others reacted; it does not matter.  Even so, each new revelation seems to bring Jim fresh pain – and to be the cause of this, even indirectly, is painful to Spock as well.

 It is not a long story, and it is a matter of only a few minutes before Spock has finished.  Jim sits silently for a few seconds; Spock notes that his complexion has become paler than usual, and that he seems to be fighting to control a rush of emotion.

“I see,” Jim says quietly.  “Sounds like I’ve got myself to blame for this one.  Granted, I guess I figured Scotty was a little more trustworthy than that – but after all, this wasn’t ship’s business, so I can hardly fault him.” 

He pauses for a long moment, then lets his breath out with anexplosive exhalation, dropping his head into one hand. 

“And this was supposed to convince me that they _weren’t_ feeling sorry for me?”  Jim is addressing his flannel-clad knee.  “Gotta tell you, Spock – this whole mess looks like it’s got guilt written all over it, wouldn’t you say?”

“I can see why you would come away with that impression, Jim – and I will not argue that, at least originally, there was a strong sense among us that you deserved far better treatment from all of us than you had recently been receiving.” 

Jim is becoming increasingly agitated.  “Originally, Spock?  Really?  Come on – give me a little credit, will you?  I’m a lot of things, but I’m not stupid.” 

In a burst of exasperated energy, he rises from his chair – and Spock is convinced that even though he is wearing only his pajamas, Jim is entirely willing to leave his quarters and go elsewhere – anywhere – in the ship in order to avoid this situation.  Without thinking, he moves to place himself in Jim’s path, blocking his exit.

“Jim, wait.”  Before he realizes what he is doing, Spock has his hands on Jim’s shoulders; he has no intention of forcing him to stop, wishing simply to slow Jim’s progress, to encourage him to reconsider leaving the room. 

Jim stops, seemingly shocked by Spock’s actions.  His eyes, fixed on Spock’s face, have gone suddenly dark now, his pupils dilating and turning the vivid blue of his irises to midnight.  He is frozen in place, simply staring at Spock – and Spock realizes dimly that this closeness, this new contact, is very nearly more than either of them can easily handle.

And it is unethical, it is _cheating_ , and he knows it – but Spock cannot resist the temptation he feels to allow his hands to slide down from those muscular shoulders, to rest briefly against the warm skin of Jim’s upper arms… just to feel Jim under his hands.  It is an enormous violation of Jim’s personal space, of his privacy, and yes, yes, Spock knows that, too – but the urge to touch Jim, _now_ , is a compulsion that he cannot bring himself to deny.

But of course his hands do not rest briefly; once they have felt the sensation of surprisingly smooth skin over taut muscle, they seem to develop their own volition – and they do not wish to move away.  This was not what Spock had planned for this discussion – not at all – and he begins to feel a faint stirring of what might be panic at the emotions that are perilously close to expression in this moment.

_Yes, of course Jim needs to know the truth of my feelings toward him.  And of course I will tell him.  But not now, not here.  Not like this._

If there is a niggling voice in his head asking him, “If not now, when?  If not here, where?  If not like this, how?”  he is willing to ignore it.  Or at least to try.  But it is almost audible, this voice – Spock cannot determine whether it sounds more like Nyota or his mother, but it is lovingly insinuating that he is a coward.

In this particular instance, he is – and does not deny that.  But for now, he cannot bring himself to speak.

While all these thoughts fly through Spock’s head – it had been the Terran author Jane Austen who had once referred to “the wonderful velocity of thought,” which he has always found to be a most fitting description – he simultaneously observes that Jim does not seem to consider Spock’s conduct to be offensive.

Jim has not moved from his spot, nor has he made a motion to shake Spock’s hands from his arms.  His eyes, still mesmerizingly dark, have grown wider as he looks carefully into Spock’s own – and Spock notes absently that Jim’s respiration has grown quicker and shallower in the past 8.7 seconds.

As has his own, he notes as well – but that is, of course, immaterial.

Spock has made every attempt not to pay attention to the emotions he feels emanating from Jim; he is well aware that he should not take advantage of his abilities as a touch telepath to ascertain what Jim is feeling at this moment.  However, those emotions are too strong for Spock to ignore – and, he knows, he really does not wish to do so.

Jim is surprised, confused – his thoughts and feelings are in such turmoil currently that it makes Spock physically dizzy to be so close to them.  But also, and above all those things, Jim is feeling… _comforted,_ it seems _,_ by Spock’s touch.  There is an enormous sense of Jim’s relief and gratitude that he has his friend with him again, and Spock feels a new surge of his own guilt that he has caused Jim this pain to begin with.

Desire – Jim’s as well as Spock’s – powerful, simmering just below the surface.

Out of self-preservation as much as anything else at this point, Spock forces himself to drop his hands from Jim’s arms and to take a small step backward – noting the flash of disappointment in Jim’s eyes as he does so, and crushing the rising elation that Jim’s disappointment sparks in his own mind.

“Please, Jim,” Spock urges, somewhat surprised at the steadiness of his own voice.  “Please be seated again; there is more to my story than I have had the chance to recount, and you need to hear it all before you can fully understand the events of last night and this morning.”

Jim draws a shaky breath and nods – but his eyes never leave Spock’s.  There is an expression now on Jim’s face that Spock recognizes, if he thinks about it.  This – this is the look Jim gets when he is piecing together a puzzle, or solving a mystery; his expression is intent, his head tilted approximately five degrees to the right, eyebrows drawn just slightly together.

Spock is increasingly certain that the puzzle Jim is piecing together now has nothing to do with his crew and their actions or motivations; he can tell by the look Jim is giving him that the mystery he is solving is, almost without a doubt, Spock himself.

This should not come as a surprise to Spock, he knows  – and on some level, it does not.  Because of course Jim understands Spock every bit as well as Spock understands Jim – and in this particular situation, he has the great advantage of being familiar and comfortable with the human emotions that Spock has only just begun to acknowledge, much less to welcome.

There will, however, be time to dissect all the facets of this unique situation later – when there is not a crowd of people awaiting Jim in his quarters – and so, Spock reluctantly puts these thoughts from his mind.

Jim is starting to smile at him, just a little, and Spock realizes with a tiny start of surprise that he has not yet begun to speak, but instead has been watching Jim in silence for the past 17 seconds.

He shakes himself mentally – because he really does need to keep his attention on the matter at hand – and briefly considers what he wants to say to Jim before he begins.

“You remain convinced that your Command crew has created this surprise for Christmas out of pity for you.”  Jim’s smile fades then, and he nods tersely.

“However, you are unaware of the rest of the circumstances surrounding what has been done to put this celebration together.  Since so much of it is of an emotional and sentimental nature, it is ironic that it is I who will be explaining it to you – but I will do my best to convey the details appropriately.”

Jim has relaxed for the first time since entering Spock’s quarters, leaning slightly back in the chair and stretching his legs out in front of him to cross his bare ankles.  Spock makes a conscious effort not to fixate on how remarkably attractive Jim is in such a position – and he is finally forced to look away and direct his commentary to the table between them, rather than to Jim himself.

“Something that you had expressed in your comments to Mr. Scott seemed to strike a chord with many of us – that we areindeed one another’s family here on board the _Enterprise_.  For some of us,” he pauses, swallowing around an unexpected tightening in his throat, “our family here on the ship is very nearly the only family we have.” 

Jim has leaned forward now, and is watching Spock with concern in those vivid blue eyes.  His physical presence is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

“At any rate, your emphasis on the idea of family caused many of us to reflect on the truth of your statements– and also to reflect on how far we have fallen short of our obligations to one another as family and friends.  We have allowed personal problems – some more significant than others – to drive us apart, or, more accurately, to cause us to retreat within ourselves rather than to look to our family of friends for solutions or consolation.”

Spock finally looks up to gauge Jim’s response to his words; he is silent, waiting.

“However,”  he continues,“had we not had a common cause, as it were, around which to rally, this reflection would probably have gone nowhere; we might have chastised ourselves briefly for our self-absorption, but then we would have, in all likelihood, gone about our business as usual.  It is simply too difficult to initiate all the discussions, the apologies, the gestures of reconciliation necessary to remedy the situations in which we found ourselves – and even if we knew we should do so, even if we felt guilty for not doing so, we would have maintained our current attitudes and courses of action instead.  You know this to be true, Jim.”

Jim draws a deep breath, lets it out in a sigh.  “Maybe.  But…”

Spock raises a hand briefly to silence Jim.  “But.  But we _did_ have a common cause, Jim.  We were able to direct all of those feelings of family, friendship… of love for one another, and work together to do something for you.  I do not mean to say that we used you as an excuse, Jim – such is not the case.  But in the course of our collaboration with one another, many positive developments have resulted.  For example, Lieutenant Uhura has learned that she was angry with you without reason, as she had mistakenly believed that you and I were no longer speaking due to something you might have done to hurt me.”

Jim’s eyebrows creep toward his hairline at that last statement, and Spock finds himself in the rare position of having to stifle a smile.

“Moreover, Mr. Sulu and Mr. Chekov seem to have reached some sort of understanding; I do not know of precisely what nature, but they both seem significantly happier as a result.  Doctor McCoy has been out of his quarters, interacting with others, and has been observed smiling and laughing over the past 24 hours – and you know better than anyone how unlikely that is.  This is the first time in 19 days that Mr. Scott has been out of the Engineering department for longer than 20 minutes at a time.”

Watching Jim carefully as he speaks, Spock sees the moment when understanding truly dawns on Jim.  He opens his mouth as if to formulate a response, but closes it again, simply shaking his head.

“So, Jim, now you see.  It is true; we are a family.  But we had forgotten – or perhaps we had not really known to begin with.  However, it is you who made us a tightly-knit circle of colleagues, of friends – of family, Jim.  We are family because of you – because of the understanding and respect you have always had for each of us individually, and for the obvious love you have for all of us.  You have always been the factor that has made us a cohesive group – but we failed to recognize that, to appreciate you for all you do and all you are, until it was brought to our attention.  It is you, Jim, who have made us a family.  We became a family again when we worked to make you happy.” 

Spock stands now, doing something he never dreamed he would be bold enough to do – he reaches out his hand to Jim, who grasps it firmly in his own before rising from his own chair.

“If your family has done all of this to make you happy, Jim, you know what your responsibility is as Captain, now.”

“Yeah, Spock.”  Jim’s voice sounds uncharacteristically hoarse.  “I need to go in there and be happy.”


	6. Simple Gifts

**_When we recall Christmas past, we usually find that the simplest things - not the great occasions - give off the greatest glow of happiness.  
Bob Hope_ **

 

“Half an hour, Doc.  What can he be doing in there for half an hour?”  Sulu shakes his head, a dubious expression on his face.

“He is being too quiet to be doing very much, _da_?  Most things in the bathroom have to make some sort of sound, don’t they?”  Chekov has evidently been doing a mental inventory of things Jim might be doing in the bathroom; nobody seems to want to carry on that line of conversation, so a brief silence ensues.

Then McCoy shakes his head in self-disgust, blowing out a frustrated breath that ruffles a stray lock of hair briefly off his forehead.  “Freaking out, that’s what he’s doing.” 

The hair has fallen down into his eyes; he pushes it back again with a quick,irritated gesture.  “And how the _hell_ I didn’t see that one coming is beyond me.”

“In fairness to you, Leonard, you did, and you know it.”  Scotty walks over, placing his hand reassuringly on McCoy’s shoulder.  “Said it yourself when we were plannin’ all this nonsense, more than once – said you hoped Jim would take it in the right spirit and not get upset.” 

Scott shoves both hands into the pockets of his well-worn plaid flannel pants, staring earnestly at the bathroom door as though it’s going to tell him what’s going on.  “So… God knows our hearts were in the right place – but I don’t know.  Do you think we did the wrong thing?”

They’re all so busy watching the bathroom door that the sound of the main door swishing open startles the hell out of all four men. 

And _startled_ doesn’t begin to cover how they’re feeling when they see that it’s Jim himself coming back into his quarters, with Spock at his right shoulder like a particularly attentive shadow. 

 _If Jim’s upset, he’s doing a damn good job of hiding it,_ McCoy thinks.  _And seriously – he’s not usually all that good at it._

He’s not sure what’s happened in the past thirty-some minutes, but either Jim’s figured it out on his own, or somehow Spock’s told him what he needs to hear.  One way or the other, Jim’s all right – and that realization has McCoy letting out a breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“The wrong thing?”  They all hear the smile in Jim’s voice as he enters with the same self-confident Starfleet Captain stride he uses on the bridge – which, Sulu reflects, is a hell of a trick for a barefoot guy in pajamas.  “Only way you could have done the wrong thing is if you aren’t prepared to get some presents under that God-awful excuse for a tree.” 

Jim looks to the floor under the overburdened ficus plant, and stops short in spite of himself when he realizes that there is already a significant pile of packageswaiting there.

“You…” he pauses, before trying again.  “You all…”

“Just because we’ve been actin’ like a bunch of self-involved pricks doesn’t mean we hadn’t gotten you Christmas presents, dumbass.” McCoy raises an eyebrow wryly.  “When it comes down to it, we’re all actually pretty nice guys.”

“And a pretty nice girl – when she’s not busy being a heinous bitch.”  Uhura’s voice can be heard now through the still-open doorway, as she enters behind Spock with her hands full of oddly-shaped bundles.  Everyone freezes for just a moment, watching her come into the room; though none of them would admit it, everybody is waiting to see what’s going to happen now between Jim and Nyota.

“Two of these” – she indicates the packages with a tilt of her head – “are for you, Captain.  The other two are for everybody to share; you’ll see in a minute.” 

As she speaks, she gives Jim a small, tentative smile that looks like no expression he’s ever seen on her face before; that look goes straight to his heart, and although she hasn’t yet spoken a word of apology, he finds he’s forgiven her already.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” he replies quietly.  “Very considerate of you.”

Uhura has walked over to deposit the packages under the tree and on an end table before rejoining the rest of the group.

Jim realizes now that everyone in the room is now standing and gawking at the unheard-of spectacle of the two of them speaking civilly to one another – and it occurs to him that this really isn’t any way to start off a Christmas morning.

Jim makes a reckless decision.  _Fuck it – might as well give it a shot_. 

“If you’d all excuse us for a moment, gentlemen – Lieutenant, would you mind joining me in the corridor for just a couple of moments?  I’d like a word with you, please.”

Her eyes go even bigger than usual, but she nods her compliance and follows him into the hallway, waiting as the door closes behind them both.

She immediately starts to fill the silence with a nervous voice.  “Captain, I need to tell you that -”

“Lieutenant.”  Jim’s voice is kind and calm, but with an underlying note of command that she knows better than to disobey.  “You don’t need to tell me anything; Spock explained a little about a misconception you might have had that caused you to be angry with me.” 

He stops for a moment, just to let that sink in.“And while I’d rather you’d come to me in future with those kinds of concerns instead of deciding that you need to be the judge, jury and executioner all rolled into one to punish my perceived wrongdoings, I do get it.” 

He pauses again briefly, taking in her surprised expression, and she notices that his next remark has an oddly tentative sound to it – almost as though there’s a question somewhere behind the comment. 

“I understand your desire to stand up for Spock in situations such as… well, whatever you thought it was.  I… suppose Spock knows that he’s very lucky to have a girlfriend like you in his corner.”

Now it’s Uhura’s turn to look a little shocked.  “He told you about my having misunderstood the situation between the two of you – but he didn’t tell you about the two of _us_?” 

Jim shakes his head wordlessly, and she notes that he is looking unusually anxious as he waits for her to begin.

“We broke up over two months ago, Captain.  Spock ended the relationship.  We remain on good terms – we’re working to be friends, now – but there is no longer anything romantic between us.” 

She hopes the sadness she feels doesn’t show on her face or in her voice – but the look Kirk gives her lets her know otherwise. 

She gives him the brightest smile she can conjure up – and it probably looks forced, but so be it.  “I am most certainly not looking for your pity, Captain.”  Her tone is respectful but adamant.  “I’d greatly appreciate it if you didn’t give it to me.”

“Understood, Lieutenant.”  Jim looks at her closely – as though he hasn’t really seen her before.  “I completely understand the concept of not wanting to be pitied.” 

Maybe he has more in common with his Communications Officer than he’d have originally guessed. 

He gives her a brief, friendly pat on the shoulder. “Won’t say that I’m not surprised, though –I had Spock pegged as some sort of genius, and any humanoid in the Alpha Quadrant would tell him he was an idiot to break up with you.”

Her smile now is smaller – but genuine, and more than a little grateful.  “You’re very kind, Captain.  Especially considering I’ve been behaving absolutely unforgivably toward you.” 

Her next words come out in a rush, as if she is trying to prevent Kirk from interrupting her. “No, no – I know you said I don’t have to tell you anything – but seriously, I do.  I’m not going to feel right until I’ve offered you my most sincere apology.  I really am so, so sorry; I was thoughtless and unkind, and terribly unprofessional.  You deserve better than that from your crew, and I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Jim rests his hand lightly on her shoulder in reassurance. “You were forgiven before you even started talking, Lieutenant.  Like I said – I get it.  I probably understand better than you think I do.”

“Captain, it’s Christmas and none of us are on duty,” she says, gesturing to her casual attire _– and she can make a plain pair of leggings and a fluffy red sweater look hotter than they have any right to look,_ Jim thinks appreciatively –“please… call me Nyota, won’t you?”

Jim clutches his chest, exaggeratedly faking a coronary.  “The world as we know it has ended; I get to use her first name.” 

He gives her the mischievous smile that makes him look like a little kid – and somehow manages to be sexy as hell at the same time.  “Guess that means I get to make you call me Jim?”

She shoots him the smile that has been known to render a room full of ambassadors completely speechless in return.  “You absolutely do, Jim.”

“So, what say you, Nyota?  Do we go back in?”

“You bet. “  She tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow.  “But… I have to tell you one more thing, Jim.”

He stops, looking curiously down at her. “Sure – what’s that?”

“You keep telling me you get it.  And yes – to a large extent, you do.  But you need to know that you don’t get it as well as you might believe; you’ve still got a couple surprises in store, I think.”

Now he’s confused – and intrigued as hell.  “By which you mean…?”

She shakes her head.  “No.  Not my secret to tell, Jim.  But keep your eye on Spock, okay?  And… check the doorway to your room at some pointlater today, too.  Just saying.”

Jim shrugs, smiling good-naturedly at her, and keys in the code to his door to let them both back into the room.  And of course – of course – he’s not going to wait until later to check the doorway.  He looks up, glimpses the mistletoe – and bursts out laughing.

“Damn.  I figured pigs would fly before I’d be under the mistletoe with Nyota Uhura on Christmas morning.”  Jim’s laughing again, and it’s contagious; now everyone else (with the exception of Spock, of course) is laughing as well.

Nyota freezes briefly as Jim leans forward – then grins unreservedly up at him as he gives her an entirely chaste peck on the cheek.

“Pigs are flyin’,” McCoy observes with a laugh, “and Hell has officially frozen over.” 

He grabs Jim by the arm then, shoving him gently back down to sit on the edge of his bed again.  “And we’ve all been waitin’ way too damn long to open presents – so let’s get to it, infant.”

The doctor suddenly sees Spock, who has moved to the periphery of the room and is beginning to look increasingly uncomfortable – and that won’t do at all.  _Think fast, McCoy._

“Commander,” he gestures toward Jim with the sweep of an arm, “go keep that one in line, will you?  Sit on him if you have to.”

“That hardly seems as though it would be necessary, Dr. McCoy.”  Nonetheless, Spock moves to sit next to Jim – and looks somewhat taken aback when Jim then suddenly moves to stand.

“Captain, if you would prefer that I sit elsewhere, I can –”

Jim seems a bit shocked and contrite all at once.  “No no no, Spock,” he says hastily, “that’s not it at all.  I just remembered that I’ve got to get all of your presents out of the closet over there.” 

He crosses his quarters, moving to a small closet in the corner and opening the door to rummage briefly before pulling out a largish – and very full – duffel bag.  With a muffled grunt, he hoists it over one shoulder before returning to sit next to Spock on his bed.

 _Under the mistletoe with Uhura, on my bed with Spock – shit, what’s next_?  Jim can’t help but laugh a little at that – and he laughs even more when he sees the shock on everyone’s faces as he starts to pull out a series of wrapped gifts, piling them up on the bed beside him.

“You guys didn’t think you had a monopoly on Christmas present buying, did you?  After all, you’re the best Command crew In Starfleet.  And since we all know that I’m the best captain in Starfleet,” Jim continues with a grin, “It stands to reason I’d be getting you gifts, doesn’t it?”

“If you say so, Keptin.”  Jim is pretty sure Chekov might swallow his own ears if his smile gets any bigger.  “But – here.”  The young navigator fishes a small package out of the middle of the pile under the tree.  “Open mine first.”

Nyota stops him with a warning hand and an affectionate smile.  “Hold on, there, Jammie-Boy.  We’ve got other matters to attend to before we go ripping right into the presents.”  She moves over to the table and unwraps one of the parcels she’d placed there – and the smell of baking starts to waft through the room.

“We’re not doing this on an empty stomach, Mr. Chekov,” she continues, smiling, “and if it’s Christmas morning, we’re going to have my Nana’s cinnamon rolls…”

She pulls the wrapping away from the other package.  “…And the captain can tell you what these are, can’t you, Jim?”

Chekov is baffled at the captain’s response; it’s a plate of cookies, from what he can see – cinnamon and sugar cookies.  They look and smell as though they’ve just recently come out of the oven – and they smell delicious, really they do – but… they’re just _cookies_.  And the captain is looking at them like he’s seeing a ghost.

“Snickerdoodles,” Jim says softly, staring intently at the plate.  “My Grandma Kirk made snickerdoodles every year.  We left some for Santa on Christmas Eve, and then had the rest of them on Christmas morning while we opened up presents.”

 He looks up at Nyota now, his eyes shinier than usual. “How could you have possibly known about that?”

Of course, he realizes almost immediately how she knew, and turns to Bones with an inquiring look.  His friend replies with a shrug.

“You were always goin’ on about the damn snickerdoodles – not that I had a clue in Hell what you were talking about.  But I mentioned them last night, and Nyota knew right away what they were.”  The doctor sends her an encouraging smile.  “She’s the one who insisted on baking them this morning.”

“Holy shit, Nyota – you actually _baked_ these?”  Sulu’s eyes are wide, now.  “Damn, I can’t remember the last time I ate something that wasn’t straight out of the replicator.”  He sniffs the air with exaggerated pleasure before starting to pass the plates of goodies around the room.  “This is going to be epic.  Absolutely epic.”

“Maybe I need to start gettin’ all nostalgic about my Gram’s sandwiches, you think?” Scotty gives Nyota a wink.  “Perhaps I might inspire you to make some of those, lass?”

Smiling broadly – and blushing a little at having become the center of attention – Nyota rolls her eyes in mock exasperation at the Chief Engineer.  “Don’t press your luck, Scotty – eat the damn rolls and like ‘em.”  She punctuates the sentence by chucking a cinnamon roll toward his head, which he catches neatly while the room erupts in laughter around them.

“This was a very thoughtful gesture on your part, Nyota.” To their surprise, Spock has quietly joined in the conversation.  “I have assumed that it was also through your efforts that each of us has a Christmas stocking on what passes for a mantel this morning; am I correct?”

She gives him a surprisingly warm smile.  “Actually, Spock, you’re not.  The stockings were all Leonard’s idea – he dug those up somewhere and managed to fill them up all on his own.”

“Yeah, well…”  McCoy seems embarrassed to be credited for this act. “Can’t have Christmas without stockings, can you?”  He looks around the room as though someone is planning to argue that point with him.

Glaring at the cookie in his hand as though it has somehow offended him, he takes a fierce bite out of it before continuing.  “Like tryin’ to do it without a tree,” he grumbles.  “Just ain’t right otherwise.”

The doctor subsides into an embarrassed silence, and Spock finds himself more than slightly surprised to learn that McCoy, of all people, had been the one who had made sure that he had been included in this little Terran ritual along with all the others.

The words are leaving Spock’s mouth now, almost of their own volition. “Although my own experience of the holiday is understandably limited, I would be inclined to agree with you, Dr. McCoy.  My… mother routinely included a Christmas stocking for me as part of her own observance of the holiday when I was quite young.”

The room is silent, now, and Spock is immediately sorry to have exposed himself so completely in front of the others.  Then he realizes that McCoy is smiling – really smiling – at him, and he feels Jim put an affectionate arm around his shoulder, giving Spock a brief but firm squeeze before letting go.

“Imagine I’d have liked your mother a lot, Spock.”  Somehow, McCoy’s tone is exactly what Spock needs to hear at this moment; respectful and affectionate, but utterly devoid of pity.

“I believe that to be highly likely, Doctor.”  He chooses to leave it at that; this really as much as he can talk about his mother just now without allowing negative emotions to overcome the predominantly positive ones that have so far accompanied the morning’s festivities.

As suddenly as the silence had fallen, it is gone again, and the room is buzzing once more with snatches of conversation and laughter.

“It’s all part of that whole family thing, Spock.”  Jim’s voice is quiet, and Spock can feel Jim’s warm breath against his ear as he leans closer to speak to him privately.  “They’re emotional.  Messy. All of that – especially when there are humans involved.”  The arm comes around his shoulders again, resting there somewhat longer than before.  “I think it’s probably good to have a chance to think of your mom this morning, even if it does hurt, too.”

Spock does not trust his voice just now, but nods a reply. 

Jim thinks that this is also probably a really good time to change the subject, and lets his arm drop from around Spock before addressing the rest of the group.

“All right – now I think we’d better get to opening some presents before Chekov explodes over there.”  Leaning forward toward the pile of gifts beneath the tree, Jim finds a squarish package, handing it to Chekov.  “Here you go, big guy. If I’m opening yours, then you should open mine.” 

As it turns out, Jim’s gift from Pavel is a book – an honest-to-God book.  All of his friends know that Jim loves actual books; _PADDs are all well and good, but **pages** – well, pages are just amazing. _

“Tolstoy, Nabokov, Pasternak, Solzhenitsyn – all in one volume?  Dude, that’s fantastic – thanks so much!”  Jim flips through the pages briefly before scanning the table of contents.  “I’d better make sure I’m in one hell of a good mood before I read this, though – otherwise I might end up killing myself or something, because some of these guys are just depressing as anything.”

Chekov grins mischievously at him.  “Depression was invented in Russia, you know.”

The group dissolves into laughter yet again, and Jim pokes Pavel’s knee with one bare foot as Pavel sits cross-legged on the floor.  “Yours, now.”

Pavel takes his time, pulling the paper from the box before opening it to reveal, of all things, “A snow globe, Keptin?  It is beautiful!  Is St. Basil’s, ‘Karu!  See?”

And indeed it is; in a glass sphere big enough that Pavel uses both hands to hold it, snow seems to fall on the brightly-colored onion domes of St. Basil’s Cathedral in Moscow.  It’s an amazingly accurate scale model of the fantastically intricate building, and Chekov is entranced.

Jim can’t help but grin at the sight of Pavel’s excitement.  “Remind you of home, Pavel?”

“Da, Keptin – it is wonderful!  Thank you so much!”  He’s almost bouncing with excitement.

“Moscow, lad?  Why was it I thought you and Nadya were from Yekaterinburg?”  Scotty sounds a little confused.

“They are, Scotty.”  Jim nods at Pavel.  “But Mr. Genius here was too damn smart for his hometown, so he spent a lot of his school years in Moscow – living with your grandma, right?”

“My great-grandmother, Keptin – but yes, I was living with my Babushka while I went to school in Moscow.”  Pavel looks admiringly at Jim.  “You don’t forget anything, do you?”

“More than I’d like to, Ensign – but you’ve gotta admit that it’s not too hard to remember that you’re from Russia.”

“And isn’t _that_ just the truth?”  Sulu elbows Chekov teasingly in the ribs.  “I’m pretty sure most of Starfleet has got that figured out by now, Pav.”

“Oh, Hikaru – not most of Starfleet.”  Jim winks at him.  “I’d go with _all_ of Starfleet – and most of the rest of the Federation.”  Reaching back into the pile of gifts, Jim tosses one toward his pilot.  “This one would be yours.”  
  


It’s no secret in their circle of friends that if such a thing is possible, Hikaru likes old-fashioned books even more than Jim does – so he’s not entirely surprised when that’s what Jim has found for him. 

“Whoa, Kirk -- _The Philosophy of Kahless the Unforgettable_.  That is just too cool – where could you have _possibly_ found this?”  Because, face it – it’s not as though this would be an easy book to find in Federation space, seeing as how Kahless had earned his fame (and become “the Unforgettable”) as Emperor of the Klingons in the 9 th Century.  And the Klingons?  Well, they’re not exactly doing business with the Federation just now.

“You know me, Sulu – connections.”  Jim winks again.  “And I figured that as much as you like strategy and philosophy, you’d get a kick out of reading this guy.  Sounds like he was a warrior king, and one hell of a philosopher along with it.  The Klingons seem to like him, that’s for sure.”

Sulu knows that, and is well aware that Jim knows every bit as much about that era of Klingon history as he does, if not a whole lot more.  It’s obvious to him now that Jim is trying not to rub his nearly encyclopedic knowledge of other civilizations into the faces of everyone else. 

He wonders sometimes if anybody – himself included – has any idea exactly how damn smart Kirk is.

“Seriously, Jim – awesome stuff.  Don’t know what you did to get your hands on this, but thanks.  You knew I’d love it.”

“You’re welcome, Sulu – I kind of hoped you would.”  Now Hikaru is holding a long, slender package toward Jim.  “My turn, now?” 

Jim makes short work of unwrapping his present from Sulu – and even if he’s not overly surprised by what’s in the box, he’s thrilled all the same.

“Damn, Sulu – my own katana?”  Jim holds the sword up to show the rest of them, turning it slightly so that the fierce, polished blade catches the light.  “This is absolutely fucking gorgeous.” 

Lowering it again, he hefts it gently, testing the weight of the metal against his hands.  “Seriously.  Just gorgeous.” 

He hates to think how much Sulu must have spent on this – but he’s not going to ruin this truly cool gift by feeling guilty about it. 

“Purely selfish, Jim.”  Hikaru is trying to act nonchalant – but it’s clear that he’s enormously pleased that Jim likes the gift so well.  “I was getting tired of having you borrow my spare when we’d practice dueling.”

Jim snickers.  “You saying you just gave me this because you wanted me to keep my hands off your weapon?”

He’s hoping to get a rise out of Sulu with that – but he’s floored when it’s Chekov who responds instead.

“I am thinking that _I_ want you to keep your hands off his weapon, Keptin.”  He says this with the kind of exaggerated eyebrow wiggle that tells Jim that he recognizes the attempt at a dirty joke, and is going right along with it.

“Pavel!”  Hikaru, scandalized and embarrassed in equal parts, has done a double face palm as Jim (and everyone else) howls with laughter.  Spock remains predictably quiet, but Jim could swear that he can almost feel the amusement radiating from his First.

 _So, it’s like **that** now with these two, is it?_   Jim thinks.  _Good for you, Sulu – and good job finally pulling your head out of your ass, Chekov._

“After all, ‘Karu,” Pavel observes reasonably, “I haven’t had my hands on your weapon yet – so why should he?”  He’s looking inordinately proud of himself, Jim notices – and even though Sulu’s face is still planted firmly in his hands, it’s clear that he’s laughing now, too.

“Good Lord.”  McCoy is doing his best to sound disgusted – and failing pretty spectacularly to suppress another laugh.  “I think we’ve created a monster.  Hell, whose idea was it to let him sit at the grownup table this year, anyway?”

Hikaru has taken his face out of his hands now, and throws one arm around Pavel’s shoulders, pulling him closer.

“That’d be me, Doc,” he says, quirking a wry grin at McCoy before treating Chekov to an eyebrow wiggle of his own.  “And you’d do well to remember, Pav – it’s _at_ the table, not _under_ the table.At least for now.”

Jim is amused and somewhat surprised to notice that Spock doesn’t seem particularly fazed by the rather bawdy turn of events, and turns to him with a smile, silently looking for a reaction.

Spock inclines his head slightly toward the men sitting on the floor at their feet. 

“You will recall, Jim, that I mentioned being fairly sure that Pavel and Hikaru had reached some sort of understanding.”  Jim doesn’t know if he’s imagining the warmth in Spock’s voice, in his expression – but he hopes he isn’t.

“So you did, Spock,” Jim replies in a gently teasing tone.  “Very observant, as usual, Commander.”

“Not that this isn’t charming, you two,” Scott interjects, raising an eyebrow at Sulu and Chekov.

“Though just for the record, it’s not.”  Of course, Bones needs to throw in his two cents worth.

Scotty rolls his eyes at the doctor.  “As I was _saying_ … not that you two aren’t just adorable, we’ve got other things to be opening, don’t we now?”

Leaning forward to take a package out from under the tree, he grins ruefully toward Jim.  “All things considered, this probably isn’t the first thing you’ll be wantin’ for a while – but here it is, all the same.”

Jim can tell from the shape and the weight of the gift pretty much exactly what it is – of course – but he unwraps it, just to be sure.

 He smiles broadly at his Chief Engineer.  “One thing I can tell you for sure, Scotty, and that’s that there’s no such thing as too much Glenlivet – not ever.”

Scotty returns the wide grin.  “Right you are – I’ve taught ye well, lad.  Make a Scotsman of you yet – or as close as you can get, at least.”

Jim sets the bottle of Glenlivet down on the nightstand by his bed before tossing Scotty a package of his own.  “Yeah, about that whole Scotsman thing, buddy,” he says, somewhat enigmatically, “I’ve been working on that.”

Intrigued, Scotty rips into the plain green paper wrapping his gift, lifting the lid off a rather large, flat box to reveal a flash of red tartan plaid.

“What’s this, Jim?  Ye’ve never… it’s a kilt, is it, now?”  Wide-eyed, Scotty pulls out exactly that – holding up the garment for everyone to see.  “Why, it’s even the Clan Scott tartan – it’s amazin’, Jim.”

“Glad you like it, Scotty – but there’s a little bit more in there.”  Reaching across Spock now, Jim pulls a smaller, tissue-wrapped package out of the box Scotty has just opened.  “Couple of accessories.”

Eagerly, Scotty removes the paper to find a belt.  “Regimental belt – that used to be part of the military uniform, way back when,” he explains helpfully to everyone else.  “You had your regimental insignia on the buckle.” 

He looks down at the buckle of his new belt – and nearly drops it in surprise. “But, Jim…” he stammers.  “This is the Starfleet insignia.”

“Yup.”Jim nods, and McCoy is amused to note that the kid looks just like the cat that‘s swallowed a canary, he’s so damn proud of himself.  “See the envelope down there in the bottom of the box?  That’s the rest of the present.  Note from Pike on behalf of the Admiralty, saying you’ve got special permission to wear the kilt as part of your dress uniform at certain functions – you know, diplomatic stuff, that kind of thing.  But you can read that yourself.”

The engineer is simply staring at Jim now, speechless.  Finally, he shakes his head.

"Just… just thank you, Jim.”

Jim gets an evil grin on his face.  “Turns out you’re not the only one to take advantage of other people’s drunken confessions, Scotty.”  He stifles a laugh at Scott’s somewhat shamefaced expression.  “You don’t even remember, I bet, telling me the story of your great-grandfather and how he’d never gotten over not being allowed to wear the kilt as part of his Starfleet dress uniform.  I could tell it really bugged you – and I figured, what the hell.  Maybe we can fix that a little.”

Scott inclines his head in a brief nod of thanks.  “That you have, Captain.  First time I put this on, it’ll be for Aidan Scott, and that’s for sure.”

Jim vaguely notices Spock watching him intently – he’s not entirely sure why that is, but he hopes he has some idea.  Sitting so close to Spock just now without really interacting is frustrating and somehow thrilling at the same time; he’s close enough to touch – hell, he’s close enough to kiss if I wanted to…

 _Stop it, Kirk.  Stop it, stop it, stop it._   Jim’s imagination has gone on without him – and he has to briefly shake his head when he realizes that Nyota has spoken to him, and is waiting for a reply.

“I’m sorry, Nyota – what did you say?”  He drops his eyes so that he doesn’t have to meet that all-too-knowing smile of hers – Jim’s convinced that somehow, Nyota knows a lot that she’s simply not letting on.

Of course, he can still hear the smile in her voice.  “I was saying, Jim, that I’ve got two gifts for you.”  She hands over a small, flat package and a larger, more irregularly shaped one.  “No explanations required – but open the little one first.”

Obeying quickly, he tears the paper off the smaller gift – and the first thing he sees is a handwritten note.  He looks up at Nyota as if to ask her silently whether or not he should share the note with everyone else; she understands his intent, and with an equally silent shake of the head, lets him know that he should keep it to himself.

 _“This will come in handy if things work out for you the way I’m expecting,”_ reads the small sheet of paper.Under the note is a small digital storage disk; Jim reads enough Vulcan to be able to tell that this is a dictionary of useful phrases translated into Vulcan from Standard, and vice versa.

“I’ve taken the liberty of creating a file of favorites for you already, Jim, so you’ll have a head start.”  Jim wonders if he’s the only one who can tell that Nyota seems to be trying just a little too hard to smile right now; whether he is or not, he doesn’t bring it up.  He already knows she doesn’t want him feeling sorry for her – and considering that he’d like nothing more than to start seeing the guy who broke up with her, Jim feels like that’s probably the least he can do for her.

“Second one, now,” she encourages him.  He opens the soft package to find another note.

 _“You might need this to keep you company if things don’t work out the way I expect – or at least that’s the impression I’ve gotten_.”  When the wrapping paper is torn away, Jim realizes that he’s holding a stuffed plush cow – and bursts into laughter all over again.

Bones is the only other person in the room who catches the significance of the gesture, and laughs even harder than Jim.  He’d heard about the night Jim and Nyota had met at a bar in Riverside, right before Jim had enlisted in Starfleet.  He’d been hitting on her pretty hard when Nyota had told him, “I thought you were just a dumb hick who only has sex with farm animals.”

Jim’s reply – _vintage Jim, of course_ – had been, “Well, not _only_.”

McCoy grins at Uhura appreciatively.  “Oh, I _like_ you.  You’re fun.”

“Don’t give me too much credit.”  She looks a little embarrassed – but pleased, all the same.  “I’d originally gotten it as a gift for my little niece – but when it came down to it, I just couldn’t resist.  The symbolism was just way too good.”

Sulu has been watching this conversation like a tennis game, looking increasingly confused.  “I don’t suppose we want to know about the back story here, do we?”

“No.”  Nyota, Jim and Bones speak up at the same time – and then laugh some more, to the slight annoyance of the others.

Jim, still smiling, hands a small package to Nyota.  “I’m afraid I’m not as, umm… _creative_ as you are in selecting gifts – but,hey.  Hope you like it, anyway.”

She unwraps a smallish box, and stifles a tiny gasp when she opens it.  “Not creative?  Jim, this is gorgeous!”

The crystal flower she holds up is about the same size as her hand – and it’s impossible to tell whether the figurine is reflecting the ambient light in the room, or somehow generating its own glow.  The translucent leaves surrounding the single blossom are a soft jade green, and the petals of the flower are a vivid shade of rose – until they suddenly turn blue.

 

“Whoa – how does it _do_ that?”  Chekov’s eyes are even bigger than usual.

“It has something to do with the material it’s made of, Pavel – the Andorians have what I guess you’d call their version of a patent on it, and won’t tell anybody how it works.” 

Jim reaches for the flower, which Nyota hands to him wordlessly.  No sooner has it touched his hand but the flower changes color again – this time to a deep violet.  “Sometimes it changes based on who’s holding it.” 

He gives it back to Nyota – and it promptly turns orange.  “And sometimes – well, sometimes I think it’s just showing off.”

That remark gets Jim what he calls Spock’s “Eyebrow of Doom,” as his First looks at him skeptically.  “Surely, Jim, you are not insinuating that the figurine is in some way sentient – are you?”

“No, Spock – of course not.  But you’ve got to admit that thinking of the flower as being a big showoff is a lot more fun than hypothesizing about why it changes color and how.”

“I must admit no such thing, Jim – I find the concept of anthropomorphizing such an object to be inherently illogical – and certainly not, as you put it, _fun_.” 

The words themselves are disapproving – but Spock’s eyes are warm as they look into Jim’s, and it hits him all at once that Spock is _teasing_ him.  He realizes that he’s grinning like an idiot now for no apparent reason – and he hopes that nobody’s going to call him on it, at least not now.

Because he’s still got Bones’ present to give him – and Jim has been waiting damn near an entire year for the chance to see his best friend’s face when he opens that present.

Stealing a sidelong glance at his First Officer – who is sitting a whole lot closer than Jim has any right to expect, and who (amazingly enough) doesn’t seem at all uncomfortable about having his captain all up in his personal space – it occurs to Jim that his gift for Spock might best be given to him later.

_In private._


	7. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my readers on AO3, my apologies for not having posted this in its entirety! Hope you enjoy the last three chapters, and thanks so much for reading!

In memory’s telephoto lens, far objects are magnified.  
~John Updike

 

Spock has to admit to himself that he had not envisioned himself spending Christmas morning in this manner.  Granted, he had truly not devoted a great deal of thought to the holiday at all until quite recently, when it had come to his attention that the celebration meant a great deal to Jim.

He realized at that time that if the holiday is meaningful to Jim, it is by extension also meaningful to himself – because nothing, _not anything_ , is more important to Spock than Jim. 

He finds it somewhat surprising, after all the time he has spent vainly trying to ignore or deny it, how easy it has become to simply acknowledge the overwhelming love he feels for Jim – even if he has not yet had the chance to tell Jim about these feelings. 

Now, Spock can only wonder now why he has waited so long to do so.

Jim is currently sitting next to him on the edge of the bed, and Spock has been able to closely observe his reactions – his unguarded joy – at the exchange of gifts that has been taking place between himself and his crew members.  Spock is amazed by the amount of thought that Jim has put into each of the gifts for his friends; every present has been selected with the recipient’s interests and preferences in mind, and he has no doubt that these gifts were not easily procured – especially out in deep space.

Upon further reflection, however, Spock realizes that while Jim’s thoughtful consideration is certainly admirable, it would be in no way surprising to anyone with an understanding of Jim’s character.  He routinely puts the well-being of others above his own – and the health and happiness of his crew comes above all other things.  Knowing as he does now that Jim has considered them all to be part of a family, Spock understands his kindness and generosity in gift-giving all the more.

Jim is laughing now, blue eyes alight, as he teases Chekov about the number of Nyota’s cinnamon rolls he has consumed – and although the moment itself is unremarkable, Spock finds that he must clamp down on a sudden surge of pure love that almost overwhelms him. 

Somehow over the course of the morning, Jim has moved closer to Spock – or, perhaps, Spock has moved closer to Jim.  _It is immaterial who has moved_ , Spock decides.   With Jim so near, he must actively resist the strong urge to reach up and stroke back a strand of his dark golden hair, which is still in some disorder from the previous night’s sleep. 

He wonders absently what Jim would do if he did _not_ resist that urge – and he hopes most fervently that Jim can think of him as something more than simply a member of the family.

Spock has felt encouraged by Jim’s casual displays of affection toward him this morning; on two occasions, he actually placed an arm around Spock’s shoulders in an attempt to comfort him when they had discussed his late mother.  Moreover, Spock is well aware that Jim fully understands the nature of Spock’s touch telepathy; when he had put his arm around him, Jim had to know that Spock would be readily able to identify any of Jim’s more obvious emotions during the course of such a contact.

The emotions had indeed been obvious; happiness, comfort, and a rush of warm affection that had nearly taken Spock’s breath away.  There had been something more, just below the surface – though Jim was obviously trying to suppress it.   Spock had recognized it right away, as he had a great deal of his own experience trying to suppress the same feeling. 

It was almost certainly desire – a hot urgency running like a current beneath the warm affection – and it was exactly like what Spock was feeling for Jim at just this moment.

_At every moment._

“Bones!”  Jim is smiling brilliantly at Dr. McCoy, and Spock returns his attention more fully to his surroundings.  “You’ve waited long enough for your present – now it’s your turn, buddy.”

The doctor looks dubious.  “Jim, tell me you didn’t dig up another one of those damn inflatable dolls.”

Jim tries and fails to look indignant before laughing delightedly.  “That wasn’t just a _doll_ , Bones.  It was a ‘life-size, deep-throat vibra-doll!’  I mean, _c’mon_ , man.  You know you were the envy of the Academy when you got that one.”

McCoy is glaring and trying not to laugh at the same time – it is an odd look, but the doctor seems to be able to manage it.  “And of course the entire Academy knew I’d gotten it, didn’t they?  When you fucking _hung her out our window_ with my name written across her chest!”  The urge to laugh overcomes the urge to glower, and the doctor chuckles in spite of himself.

“That was yours?”  Sulu looks impressed.  “I just always figured it was Jim’s.”

“Jim never needed one,” McCoy counters, laughing.  “He had his reputation to think of, after all – too busy screwing any consenting biped that passed by.”

Spock stiffens slightly at that remark, and then suddenly Jim does as well – an odd reaction for the captain, since he’s usually the first to make light of his reputation as a “man-whore.” 

“Bones,” he says quietly, with a significant look in his friend’s direction.

The doctor looks from Jim’s suddenly serious face to Spock’s, and puts two and two together with impressive speed. 

“Or at least that’s what he liked everyone to _think,”_ he continues.  “But now the gruesome truth will out, won’t it, Jim?” 

He grins broadly, leaning forward as if to impart a deep, dark secret.

“You know all those ‘conquests’ of Jim’s?”  McCoy waits for eager nods from Pavel and Hikaru – and an eye-roll from Nyota – before continuing in a stage whisper.  “Here’s the honest to God truth; they _never happened._   Not a damn one of ‘em.”

“What?”  Pavel’s voice goes up half an octave with the startled exclamation.  “You can’t mean…”

“Yep.”  McCoy is obviously enjoying this.  “All those times he was supposedly cutting a swath through all the pretty cadets of either gender – and any number of species?  You’ll never guess what he was doing instead.”

Now, amazingly, Jim looks embarrassed.  “God, Bones – you don’t need to tell ‘em _everything_ , do you?”

The doctor’s grin widens.  “Oh, I think I _absolutely_ do, Jimmy-Boy.”  He reaches over from his seat in a chair nearby to pat Jim’s knee with exaggerated affection.

“All right – I’ll bite.”  Nyota looks curious, in spite of herself.  “What exactly _was_ he doing?”

The stage whisper again – and McCoy looks entirely too pleased with himself.  “He was – wait for it – _studying_.”

 _“Studying?”_   Now Pavel’s voice makes it up the entire octave, and his mouth has dropped open in astonishment as he stares at Jim.  “No fucking _way_.” 

Suddenly aghast, he claps a hand over his mouth.  “Pardon me, Lieutenant,” he says quickly with a sheepish look at Nyota.

But instead of being shocked by Pavel’s rare outburst of vulgarity, Nyota is looking bemused.  “But if Jim was… then, why did everybody…?” She stops in the middle of her own train of thought, shaking her head.

It’s McCoy who makes sense of it for her.  “Why did all those people swear they’d done the deed with Jim if they really hadn’t?  Well, think about it; you go on a date with the ‘sex machine’ of the Academy.  Except the date begins, the date ends – and there ain’t any sex.  You wanna be the one to go back to tell your friends you’re the first one he _didn’t_ screw?”

Nyota tilts her head, considering.  “I see what you mean.  That also explains why the stories just kept getting wilder as our time at the Academy went on – people were just making stuff up, and trying to top whoever had come before.”

She leans back in her chair then, barely-suppressed merriment sparkling in her eyes.  “So, Jim – all that time, and… not even with the farm animals?”  Giggling, she dodges the stuffed cow that Jim throws at her.

Scotty shakes his head.  “One of these days, you’re gonna have to explain that charming little reference.  But not today – I think I’ve had about as much speculation about Jim’s sex life as I want to have for one day, thank you so kindly.”

“Not exactly my first choice for conversational topics, either, Scotty.”  Jim is still visibly flustered, and obviously looking for a way to detract attention from himself.

He hands McCoy a package from the dwindling pile next to him on the bed. “Here you go, Bones.  And no, it doesn’t inflate, and it doesn’t vibrate – so just shut the fuck up and open it already.”

Although Jim’s words upon presenting McCoy’s gift to him were casual, Spock notes that Jim is holding himself with a sudden tension in his body that had not been there previously.  It is clear to him that Jim is anxious about this gift, whatever it is.  For Jim’s sake, Spock hopes that it is well-received by Dr. McCoy.

The doctor has torn the paper off of what looks to be a very large – and fairly heavy – book. 

“If I didn’t know better, Jim, I’d think this was a photo album.”  Bones looks intrigued.  “Except I know you always make fun of me for having real paper photos – you like the digital stuff instead.”

Jim’s smile is tight and enigmatic.  “True.  But… well, just open it.”

So he does – and Spock can see over McCoy’s shoulder that the first page does indeed contain a photograph; the doctor gasps slightly when he sees it.  

It is Jim, in what looks to be someone’s private home – possibly at a kitchen table – and he is holding a small girl in his lap.  In the moment that the photograph was taken, the two of them were looking at one another and laughing.

Spock does not recognize the child, but it is obvious that McCoy does – because he is looking over at Jim now with an expression he has never before seen on the doctor’s face.

“Jim?”  He sounds as though he does not entirely trust his own voice.

“The tab there underneath, Bones.  It’s a switch – pull it.”

McCoy reaches down, and an audio recording begins to play.

“Hey, Daddy!”  So – the young girl is Dr. McCoy’s daughter.

“Heeeey, Daaaddy!”  There is Jim’s voice, now – and he is speaking in an exaggerated version of the little girl’s accent, which is characteristic of inhabitants of the southern region of the United States.   Spock notices that it is similar to Dr. McCoy’s own accent, although significantly more pronounced.

She giggles.  “Uncle Jim, are you makin’ fun of the way I talk?”

“Shore ‘nuff, Miss Joanna.”  Spock can hear the smile in Jim’s voice; it is clear that he is very fond of the child.

“Well, _that’s_ not nice.”  There is a brief pause.  “And you know what I do when you’re not nice, Uncle Jim…!”

There are the sounds of a scuffle, and Jim’s laughter interspersed with Joanna’s giggles.  “No, don’t!  Stop, Jo-Jo – I give up!  Just no more tickling – you know how ticklish I am!”

“Well, then?  What do you say?”  She sounds gleeful in her “victory” over Jim.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!  I won’t do it anymore, I promise!”

“You better not, or I’ll do it again…!”  Joanna is still laughing – and Spock looks up at the little girl’s father now, to see him watching the photograph, transfixed, as though it is somehow the most precious thing in the universe.

“So, Jo-Jo?”  Jim’s recorded voice can be heard again.  “You gonna tell Daddy what you and I are up to?”

“Yeah – Daddy, it’s a surprise!  We’re gonna do this all year long!”

“You’re going to sit on my lap and tickle me all year long?  Really?”

Giggles again.  “Uncle Jim…!”

“Here’s the deal, Bones.”  Jim takes over the explanation.  “Miss Joanna and I got to talking the other day, and she was saying how sometimes she forgets to tell you things when you two get a chance to talk.  And she also said that you always seem surprised by how much she’s grown up every time you get to see her.  So, we had an idea.”

“We’re gonna do a whole book for you, Daddy!  Uncle Jim says we’re gonna call it ‘A Year in the Life of Princess Joanna McCoy,’ and I’m gonna get a picture of me every day with me telling you what I’m doing!  Every day!”  She is almost squeaking with excitement.

“It won’t end up being a whole year, though.”  Jim’s voice on the recording sounds apologetic.  “We had the idea here visiting at your mom’s house in Georgia – and you know we’re here in mid-January.  Or, well – we _were_ here in mid-January, since it’ll be December by the time you get this.  I’m planning on giving it to you for Christmas if it all works out, so it’ll be _most_ of a year; enough to be worthwhile, I hope.”

Joanna interjects again.  “Grammy Nora says she’ll help me take pictures whenever I’m at her house – and when I told Mama about it last night, she said she’d help me do it, too – so now you’ll get to see me every day, Daddy!  Even when you’re back up in space and really far away!”

McCoy slowly closes the cover of the book, looking down at the floor to avoid the eyes that are upon him from all around the room.  Finally, he looks back up at Jim, and his eyes are shining with unshed tears.

“Every day, Jim?”  His voice is barely more than a whisper.

“Your mom helped a ton, just like she said she would – and Joss really was good about it, too.  Jo-Jo would do an audio recording at some point during the day, somebody would take the pictures, and then either Joss or your mom would send them to me every week or so.” 

Jim shrugs his shoulders slightly.  “It wasn’t really hard to put them all into this kind of a format… but I thought maybe you’d like to be able to go back and see Joanna and listen to her talking, just whenever you wanted to.”

There is a long silence in reply, and Spock can feel Jim’s body tensing next to him again.  “It _is_ okay, right, Bones?” 

Wordlessly, McCoy stands – placing his book onto the chair as tenderly as if it were Joanna herself – and seizes Jim’s hands, pulling him into a standing position before wrapping him in a crushing embrace.

“You know it’s okay, idiot.”  He draws a deep, shuddering breath, and lets it out again with an odd, strangled sound as he buries his head onto Jim’s shoulder.  “It’s the most amazing damn thing I’ve ever seen – and I haven’t even really seen it yet.”

Straightening up again, he squeezes Jim once more before patting him on the back and releasing him.  Now, it’s McCoy who has an oddly tentative look on his face. 

“What’s more, you giving me this – well, it’s kind of ironic, all things considered.”

Jim sits down on the bed again – and if anyone notices that he is now even closer to Spock, they do not mention it.  Spock, of course, notices; he is almost hyper-aware of the warmth of Jim’s leg through his thin flannel pants as their knees touch inadvertently. 

Spock does not move to discontinue the contact; Jim does not, either.

Neither McCoy’s words nor his tone are lost on Jim. 

“Ironic?  What’s that supposed to mean?”  He looks quizzically at his best friend, and the room is silent as everyone awaits the doctor’s reply.

McCoy leans down to pull what looks to be the last package from under the tree, handing it to Jim with a smile that none of them besides Jim has ever seen – it is small but genuine, and the expression changes his entire face. 

“Hope you like this, kid – I… well, you know.”  The doctor sounds flustered, and as though he might be having a hard time handling the emotional nature of this gift exchange. 

Spock finds that feeling easy enough to understand.

Not taking his eyes off his friend, Jim begins to remove the wrapping paper from the gift – looking down in surprise when he realizes that he has unwrapped what looks to be an album that is very similar to the one that he has just given to Dr. McCoy.

“See what I mean?”  The doctor smiles wryly.  “Great minds, or something.  But… well, this one’s a little different – you’ll see.” He waves a hand at Jim as though to hasten his actions.  “ Just open the damn thing.”

Jim does so – and Spock can feel Jim’s sharp intake of breath rather than hearing it.  He would gladly allow Jim to examine his gift in private, but the fact that they are sitting so close means that the book in Jim’s lap is essentially in Spock’s as well.

It is, as he had expected, a book of photos.  This first one seems to have been taken quite some time ago, based on the clothing styles being worn by the people in the picture.  There is a couple – a young man and woman – in front of a large Christmas tree, surrounded by two little boys and a tiny girl.

Jim looks stunned.  “Bones?”  He looks back down at the picture as though it might have disappeared when he had looked away.  “Where… where did you _get_ this?”

“Long story, kid – _real_ long story.  Let’s just say it turns out you’ve got some distant cousins who managed to hang onto stuff.”

Jim turns his attention to Spock, who is watching him intently.  “These are my Grandma and Grandpa Kirk – and that little guy there…” he trails off, swallowing hard before speaking again.  “That’s my dad when he was – oh, I don’t know, maybe five or six?”

“Who are the other children, Jim?”  Spock hopes that his curiosity is not inappropriate.

“My uncle and aunt.  Uncle Tib died in a shuttle accident when he was in high school, and Aunt Laura…”  Jim seems unable to continue for just a moment, but then finishes the thought.  “Aunt Laura was one of the original colonists on Tarsus IV.   She was there when the famine hit… and she was one of the ones who didn’t make it.”

McCoy is looking stricken.  “Jim – I didn’t think.  I’m sorry.” Spock cannot help but think that there is something going on between the two friends that nobody else knows about.  He wonders what it might be; he is privy to so many of Jim’s secrets that he finds himself feeling somewhat disconcerted to be, in Jim’s words, “out of the loop.”

“Are you kidding, Bones?”  Jim leans forward to grasp McCoy’s arm reassuringly.  “This – this is fantastic.  You know it is.”

He turns to the next page in the album.  The same couple is in front of another Christmas tree in the same room –  although they appear to be significantly older this time, and are joined by another couple as well.  A smiling young man who looks startlingly like Jim is holding a young boy in one arm; his other arm is around a beautiful – and visibly pregnant – young woman.

Jim smiles up at the doctor again.  “Wow,” he says quietly. 

Gesturing to Spock, he points to the photo. “See that?”  He points to the woman’s slightly rounded belly, smiling.  “That’s me in there.  Dad’s holding Sam – that was the Christmas before Mom and Dad were both assigned to duty on the _Kelvin_.”

Spock looks over Jim’s shoulder as he looks at the next photos; he does not comment, but it is clear that the pictures are of Jim himself as a small child with his brother Sam – and that all of the photos had been taken at the home of the elder Kirks over the course of various annual family Christmas celebrations.

“Do I catch a theme here, Bones?”  Jim’s words are teasing, but he is obviously deeply touched by his friend’s gesture.

“Well, hell, Jim – it _is_ Christmas, after all.  I know you think I’m the biggest damn Grinch in Who-ville – but I do have my occasional redeeming qualities.  And one of those is knowing you well enough to know that you’d probably want some family Christmas pictures if there were any to be had.”  McCoy shrugs self-deprecatingly.  “Turns out there were some to be had, that’s all.”

Jim turns a page now to a photo that is obviously much more recent, though it is still highly reminiscent of the ones before.  A young man and a woman – evidently his wife – are sitting together on a sofa, each balancing one of two little boys on their laps.   The lights of a Christmas tree softly illuminate the scene.

“Bones – that’s… that’s _Sam_ , isn’t it?”  Perhaps Jim does not notice, but Spock notes the muted shock of the others that Jim would not readily recognize his own older brother.

“Yep – that’s Sam.  With his wife Aurelan, and his boys Peter and James.”

“James?  _Seriously_?”  That information – that his brother has sons, and has named one of them after him – seems to slam into Jim, leaving him somewhat breathless.  “Which one?”

McCoy smiles, then.  “The little guy – Aurelan’s holding him.”

“Whoa.”  Jim studies the little boy in his sister-in-law’s arms.  “I’m an uncle – who knew?”

“Yeah, kid.  Who knew?”  The doctor leans forward, patting Jim’s knee again.  “Sam told me to tell you ‘Merry Christmas’ – he’s gonna call himself later today.”

That information sinks in for a moment before Jim asks another question. “I don’t suppose I want to know what you had to do to find him, do I?”  He is watching McCoy carefully, as though somehow he might be able to read the truth on the doctor’s face before he speaks. 

“It wasn’t a big deal, Jim.”  He sounds uncomfortable taking any kind of credit for his actions – though Spock, who is indirectly in charge of monitoring transmissions from the _Enterprise_ to Earth and other planets, happens to know that McCoy had in fact spent months and devoted great effort to finding George Samuel Kirk before finally locating him in a small colony on the outskirts of the Alpha Quadrant. 

Jim seems to understand this without being told.  “Yeah, except it was.  I know it was, because of all the times I tried to find him when we were still on-planet, and I was never able to do it.” 

He looks back down at the image of his brother’s family – and only Spock is close enough to realize that Jim is trembling slightly now. 

“You got me my family Christmas pictures, Bones – I don’t know how to thank you.”  Jim sounds as though he is speaking through an unusual tightness in his throat.

“It’s no more than you did for me, infant – but you’re welcome, all the same.”  McCoy taps the page of the book in Jim’s lap.  “That’s not _all_ your family Christmas pictures, though – look at the rest of ‘em.”

Spock already knows what will be on those last pages, because he was present when many of the photographs had been taken.  There are a number of shots of the Command crew preparing for this very celebration –and  Jim seems especially amused by the photos that had been taken in Spock’s quarters when the room was being used as a “staging area.”

“How did you tolerate that mess, Spock?  It had to have driven you nuts!”  Jim’s laugh is genuine enough, but somewhat shaky, all the same.

“It was, to use the doctor’s words, not a big deal, Jim.” As has been Spock’s intention, Jim laughs again.

On the next to last page of the album is a collection – almost a collage – composed of many smaller photos.  In the combined photos is, in one place or another, every member of the crew of the _Enterprise_.

“It’s not just us who are your family here, Jim.”  McCoy sounds more sincere than Spock can recall having ever heard him sound.  “There’s not a soul on this ship – not one – who doesn’t feel as though you’re part of their family, and if you don’t know it, you ought to.” 

He blows out a quick breath, as though is impatient with himself for getting so sentimental. “Look around this room, Jim – look around this ship.  There are a lot of people who love you around here – probably some of ‘em more than you even realize.”   If McCoy glances sideways at Spock after that particular comment, Spock chooses not to notice.

Jim swallows hard, tries to answer – but instead, ends up wordlessly dropping his head into his hand.  The events of the morning – joyous as they have been – seem to have taken their toll on him, and it is obvious to Spock that Jim is becoming somewhat overwhelmed.

Without considering his actions, Spock reaches over to put a reassuring arm around Jim’s shoulders, much as Jim had done for him earlier in the morning.  Instead of shaking Spock’s arm away as Spock had rather expected him to do, Jim stuns him by leaning into the gesture – and Spock instinctively pulls him closer still.  He knows it is only a matter of seconds that they remain in that position, but the sensation of Jim’s warmth pressed against his side is marked indelibly into Spock’s sensory memory.

“I’m sorry, guys.”  Jim sounds more than a little embarrassed – he knows that everybody here knows him well enough to realize that has become far more emotional than is his habit.  “It’s just that you all have done so much, and I don’t know what to say – or honestly, quite how to process it all.  It’s… it’s just all so much.”

“Yeah, it’s been a pretty eventful morning.”  Hikaru is rising from his spot on the floor, and reaching down for Pavel’s hand to haul him up as well.  “Probably not a bad idea for us to clear out and let you have a little down time before everything else that’s going to be happening today.”

“Everything else?  What are you talking about?”

“Christmas dinner tonight, Jim – among other things,” Nyota explains.  “Everyone who traditionally celebrates Christmas – and anybody who doesn’t, but wants to hang with us anyway – we’re all getting together for a big dinner of all the traditional favorites.” 

She winks conspiratorially at him.  “That’d be _everybody’s_ traditional favorites – no matter what tradition – so I’d say it’s going to be a pretty big dinner.”

“ _I’d_ say it’s going to be a heart attack on a plate, times four hundred,” McCoy grouses half-heartedly – and Nyota laughs at him outright before continuing.

“We’re going to have some carols, too ; you probably don’t remember the women’s choral group we had at the Academy, but most of the former ‘Madri-Gals’ are actually stationed on the _Enterprise_ , and we’ve got a whole repertoire of some of the really good old Christmas songs.”

Jim nods appreciatively.  “Sounds awesome, but I’ll only be able to stop in for a little while – I’m on Beta this evening.”

“In fact, Jim, you are not,” Spock interjects.  “With prior knowledge of the events that would take place today, I took the liberty of removing you from today’s scheduled roster.”

“But Hikaru’s right,” says Scotty, rising from his chair.  “Probably time to let you have your room back for a little while.  Been a busy morning for all of us.”

“Too true,” says Nyota, taking the hand Scotty offers to help her out of her seat. “And _some_ of us still have to help get everything ready in Ten Forward for the get-together tonight.”  She attempts to glare at the others, though the effect is entirely ruined by the smile she is fighting – unsuccessfully.

“You end up needing help, Nyota, just give me a call – I’m not on duty today at all, and except for my call with Joanna, I’ve got nothing on the schedule.”  McCoy looks almost surprised at himself for having offered assistance, but seems pleased when she turns that bright smile toward him.

“Thank you, Doctor – I’ll do just that, if you don’t mind.”

He is blushing bright red, now.  “My friends – or at least _some_ of them – call me Leonard, if you’re not in the mood to keep callin’ me ‘Doctor.’”

Scotty turns on his way out the door, a wicked grin starting on his face.  “Seems to me that _some_ of his friends call him ‘asshole,’ as well – though I don’t hear him recommending that you call him that, lass.”

“Ah, fuck off, Skirt-Boy.”  McCoy smacks Scott along the side of his head with a gentle cuff of an open palm – though he is smiling as he does so.

“We’ll see you later, Keptin – thanks again for my present!”  Chekov is clutching his glass St. Basil’s in one arm, with the other arm wrapped possessively around Sulu’s waist.  Sulu nods a farewell, and they are both gone – with Scott and Nyota right behind them.

“I’m outta here, too, Jim,” McCoy says, stretching with a groan before standing up again.  “Much as I like that easy chair of yours, spending two nights in it in a row isn’t what I’d call restful.  And if Uhura’s going to lasso me into the party plans, I’d better go catch a nap.”

Jim smiles affectionately up at him.  “Or maybe you’d better go back to your quarters and get started listening to your baby girl and her book – right?”

The doctor laughs softly.  “You’ve got me pegged, as usual.”  He reaches down to ruffle Jim’s hair – leaving Spock fighting the urge yet again to restore it to order by running his fingers through it as well.

“I don’t know how you came up with that idea, Jim, but seriously – you’ve gotta know it’s the most wonderful thing you could have possibly ever done for me, and I think you know that.”

Picking up the book, McCoy makes his way to the door before turning around to face Jim again.  “In case you don’t actually know it, I love you – you stupid little prick.”

He is out the door before Jim can respond.  Now, Spock and Jim are alone in the room – and Spock finds himself wondering how he should proceed.

“I am certain that, as the others have said, you would benefit from some time alone, Jim.”  Spock makes a move to rise – but is held down by Jim’s hand planted firmly on his shoulder.

“Not so fast, Spock.”  There is a light in Jim’s eyes that was not there even a moment ago.  “I haven’t given you your Christmas gift yet.”

Spock’s eyes drop to focus on his clasped hands.  “It was not necessary to procure a Christmas gift for me, Jim.”

“It was, Spock – but I know you don’t do Christmas, so if you’re worrying that you don’t have anything for me, please don’t.  I’m not expecting anything.”

“It is not that, Jim – I do indeed have a gift for you to honor the celebration of this holiday, and have had for some time now.”  He hopes that he does not look as supremely uncomfortable as he feels.  “I simply meant that…”  He realizes helplessly that he actually has no idea exactly what he’d simply meant.

“Spock.”  Jim’s voice is as warm as the look in his eyes, and Spock feels drawn to him like a magnet.  “You’re trying to tell me that you don’t want me making a big fuss over you – not for Christmas, not for anything.”  Spock nods briefly, and Jim shakes his head in reply.

“You don’t get it, do you?”  When Spock does not respond, Jim shakes his head yet again.  “I think it’s time we came to an understanding, you and I.  Past time, really.  But first, there’s this – here.”

Reaching under the bed for a large, flat package, he hands it to Spock.  “This is for you.  I… I hope you like it.” 


	8. All I Want for Christmas is You

****

**_This is the message of Christmas:  We are never alone.  
~Taylor Caldwell_ **

**~o0o~**

“This is for you.  I… I hope you like it.”

_Moment of truth, here, Kirk._

Jim had known months ago when he’d settled on the idea of this gift for Spock that he was taking a big chance.  After all, Spock is nobody’s fool, and this particular present is… _personal_ , to say the least.  He’d felt a little weird going to all of this effort for someone who was just a friend – _a really good friend, granted_ – but just a friend, all the same.

_And yeah,_ Jim had rationalized, _getting a dear friend a special gift that you think (hope) they’ll really like – there’s nothing wrong with that._

But getting a gift like that for a dear friend who doesn’t know that you’re damn near dying inside from trying not to let them know that you’re secretly, passionately in love with them _– well, hell.  That’s a different story altogether._

Especially when that friend is already very obviously involved with someone else – and has spent the past month avoiding you as though you’re contagious. 

Even as he was planning this particular gift, Jim knew he was all kinds of an idiot to be doing this for Spock for Christmas – or for anything other reason, really. 

Because… yeah.  Spock is nobody’s fool – and once he opens this gift, he’s going to _know_.

On one hand, this is freaking Jim out – he’s not one to make his deepest feelings obvious, not if he can help it.  And he doesn’t do declarations of love; he just doesn’t. 

Knowing that he’s about to do just that – and to do it without actually saying a word – is definitely worthy of a little bit of a freak-out.

On the other hand…

All morning long, Jim has been getting the weirdest, most amazingly awesome vibes from Spock... and he can’t help feeling at least a little hopeful – especially now that he knows that Spock and Nyota aren’t together anymore.   

And Nyota – all morning, she’s been acting as though she’s in on a secret; she knows something, and whatever it is, Jim is pretty sure he wants to know it too.

But Spock – he’s been amazing this morning, and Jim can’t stop re-running all kinds of random details through his mind.

First thing this morning he’d rescued Jim from his idiotic exile in the bathroom, stunning him with his sudden apology for the way he’d been acting lately – and even though he didn’t explain, it was such a relief just to have his friend talking to him again.  Honestly, it was almost as much of a relief to discover that he hadn’t done anything to hurt or offend Spock, because he’d been driving himself nuts wondering how he’d screwed things up between them without even realizing it.

Then, there’d been that moment in Spock’s quarters when he’d reached out to stop Jim from leaving the room – only he’d ended up holding onto Jim’s shoulders, and then his arms, and… _damn_. 

He’d never thought that simply having somebody’s hands on your biceps could be unbelievably arousing – but with Spock, it looks like all bets are off as far as that’s concerned.  

He can make anything unbelievably arousing, evidently.

It had been all Jim could do to keep his own hands off of Spock at that moment – and Spock sure as hell hadn’t made matters any easier.  He’d expected Spock to let go after that first brush of contact, to back away, but he didn’t.  He simply stood there, _so_ close, just _watching_ Jim with those amazing dark brown eyes – looking at him as though somehow he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching him, to look away.

That was the moment that Jim had begun to think that maybe, just maybe, he understood this situation better than he’d originally thought. 

Because he’s a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. 

More than that, he _knows_ Spock – _really_ knows him.  Knows him well enough to understand that Spock had kept his distance for all these weeks because he was upset for some reason.  And if Jim hadn’t done anything to upset him, then there’d been something else troubling him – something that made him want to stay as far away from Jim as possible.

But now?  Now, all of a sudden, Spock can’t seem to get close enough – not that Jim’s complaining.  All the same, he has to admit that it’s a little surprising that Spock spent the whole morning sitting right next to him – really, _right_ next to him – on Jim’s bed, when he could easily have sat several feet away.  He’d tolerated – okay, _more_ than tolerated – Jim’s arm around him, not once, but twice. 

He had actually reciprocated the gesture himself when Jim had been trying to avert an emotional meltdown a little while ago – and Jim wasn’t even going to try to pretend that it hadn’t felt absolutely amazing to have Spock’s arm around him, pulling him close against him. 

It was crazy, because the whole thing hadn’t taken even fifteen seconds – but Jim couldn’t recall having ever felt so… so _safe_ in his entire life as he had in that brief moment. 

_Crazy._

But now, Spock is holding onto the that gift Jim has just handed him – and even though there’s so, so much warmth in those expressive brown eyes that are watching him so intently, _safe_ is the last thing that Jim’s feeling right now.

He knows that he’s not even a minute from knowing whether the new, crazy things going through his head could possibly be right, that Spock could possibly feel the same way he does.

Because, seriously – once Spock opens this, there’s no way he won’t know that Jim loves him. 

He’s nobody’s fool.

**~o0o~**

“So… you going to open it?” 

Spock can see the growing anxiety in Jim’s expression, and realizes belatedly that it is likely because without thinking about it, Spock has not responded for several seconds to having received his present from Jim.  Instead, he has been sitting nearly motionless, looking by turns at the gift and at Jim, without a word.

“In a moment, Jim – but first, you must excuse me while I return to my quarters.  I did not bring my gifts for you into the room last night while the others were decorating, and I believe that I would prefer that you open one of the gifts I have for you before I unwrap this.”

He truly has not meant to cause Jim any undue anxiety – but now that the time has come for him to exchange presents with Jim, Spock is certainly beginning to experience a certain degree of unease himself. 

All morning, he has seen the gifts that Jim has given to all of his friends; each gift has demonstrated an incredible amount of thought and planning on Jim’s part, as well as a deep understanding of each of the recipients.

Without any idea of what might be in this parcel on his lap, Spock can predict with a high degree of certainty that Jim has done something extraordinary for him – and that at least one of Spock’s gifts for Jim will likely pale in comparison.  In what he recognizes as an utterly unreasonable moment of insecurity, Spock suddenly decides that Jim needs to open his present first.

“Ummm… okay – if you want to do it that way, we can do that.”  Jim has gone from looking anxious to looking somewhat baffled – and though Spock cannot blame him, he cannot really explain his feelings to Jim.  He places the heavy box in his lap gently down upon the bed, and moves to cross Jim’s room to enter his own quarters.

Jim has not moved from his previous position when Spock returns less than thirty seconds later, two small wrapped boxes in his hands. 

He hands the larger of the two to Jim.  “Do you remember Mirtan, the Andorian craftsman from whom you purchased Nyota’s flower?”  At Jim’s silent nod, he continues.  “He also created this.  I found myself thinking that perhaps it would prove to be useful during the somewhat tedious diplomatic missions that force us to leave the _Enterprise_.”

Now, Jim is curious – and though his hands move to tear the paper from the package, his eyes never leave Spock’s until the wrapping is gone.

Lifting the lid from the box in his hands, Jim looks down and smiles.

“This is awesome, Spock – how did you get him to make something this _small_?”  He reaches down to pull out a beautifully-crafted chess set, the board no larger than the palms of his hands upon which it is balanced.  The individual pieces are tiny, and Jim is fascinated by an intricately-worked knight, carved ingeniously out of crystal; it is barely larger than the tips of his fingers, and he holds it up to watch it catch the light from the Christmas tree.

Spock is somewhat surprised by how pleased he is with Jim’s reaction.  “It was not a problem at all, Jim.  The challenge proved to be explaining to him exactly what a chess set looked like – but once I was able to show him a detailed image, he was most eager to produce one of his own.”  He lifts a queen from out of the box.  “I believe that he has created several of these sets since that time.”

“Amazing.”  Jim cannot stop looking at the individual pieces.  “I mean, the detail – just, wow.”  He starts slightly as the bishop in his hand begins to glow softly.

“Whoa – did you see that?”

“That is perhaps my favorite feature of this set, Jim – the pieces, as well as the board itself, are photosensitive, and respond to changes in the ambient light of a room.” 

Spock puts the queen back into its place in the box before raising his eyes to Jim’s again. “It occurred to me that we have frequently found ourselves in situations where we have wished to engage in a game of chess, but have not been able to do so because a chess set was simply too large to practically bring with us.  Now we can bring this on missions where it may come in handy – and we need not be limited by whether or not the room in which we play is adequately lit.  The set itself will react to the light, or lack thereof, so that we will always be able to see well enough to play.”

“Incredible, Spock – absolutely amazing.”  It is clear to Spock that Jim is not feigning his enthusiasm for this gift – and he finds himself feeling not only pleasure, now, but relief as well.  “Thank you so much, Spock – it was awesome of you to think of this.  I hope you know how much I truly do love it.”

“That was my intention, Jim, and also my hope; I am gratified that you are pleased by the gift.”

Jim’s smile changes suddenly – it is clear to Spock that he is feeling anxious again as he hands his gift back to him once more.

  
**~o0o~**

“Your turn, now – no more stalling.”

“I did not intend to ‘stall,’ Jim.  I was simply –”

“ _Open_ it, Spock.  Seriously.”  Jim hears the impatience in his own voice; he wishes it wasn’t there, but he honestly can’t help it. 

Spock is gently detaching the paper from the package – because God knows he can’t actually _tear_ it – and Jim can pinpoint the exact moment when Spock realizes what he has unwrapped.

He’s frozen in place for a long few seconds before he removes the paper entirely – and he’s utterly silent as he lifts the instrument out of its box to hold it in his hands.  He takes his eyes away from it long enough to look at Jim with a combination of shock and wonder that he’s never seen there before.

The silence drags on – or at least it feels that way to Jim – and he finds himself talking in order to fill it.

 “You were talking to Nyota, once; I heard her ask you if you played the Vulcan lute.  You told her that you did – but you hadn’t in a while.”

Spock still hasn’t spoken, so Jim continues.  “I’d never heard much about that instrument, so I was curious, and I did some research.”

He suspects he’s babbling by now – he knows he’s certainly talking way too fast – but he also knows there’s no stopping at this point.  “Didn’t take much poking around to find out that not only did you play it – you’d come in second place in the All-Vulcan Music Competition a few years back.”

“My father came in first.”  Spock’s reply is almost automatic; he’s obviously listening, at least a little, but he is transfixed by the lute – because it is, of course, a Vulcan lute – in his hands.

“So I discovered.  And… well, I got brave one day when I was talking to Sarek down on New Vulcan about a shipment of supplies we were scheduled to bring in, and I asked him if he knew why you might have stopped playing the lute.”

Now Spock meets Jim’s eyes – and Jim has a hard time reading the expression there.  “He would have explained to you, I imagine, that I had left my lute at my parents’ home for safekeeping when I had last visited them on Vulcan.”

Jim nods briefly.  “He did – and I certainly didn’t ask him any more about it, because that would obviously have brought back a lot of unpleasant memories for him.  But I couldn’t get it out of my head.”

Spock interrupts, his voice unusually quiet.  “Jim.  This is not my lute – I know that it cannot be – but it is nearly identical in appearance.  The only difference – the _only_ difference – is the absence of a small scratch here along the bridge that had been present on my instrument.” 

He lifts the instrument to his shoulder, positioning his long, graceful fingers on the strings before closing his eyes and beginning to play.  It is only a few notes – a series of chords in progression – but Jim is entranced, and Spock sighs with satisfaction.

He opens his eyes again, and is looking at Jim in amazement.  “It – it even _sounds_ the same, Jim.”  He glances away now and pauses, obviously at a loss for words.  And that’s not like Spock; a lot of times he chooses not to speak, but Jim has never seen him tongue-tied like this.

Spock’s voice sounds somewhat strained as he continues, managing to meet Jim’s eyes again. 

“You know as well as I do that my lute was not mass-produced – that it was, in fact, custom-made for me, and one of a kind.  I cannot understand how…”  He gestures helplessly at the long, graceful wooden harp against his shoulder, subsiding into silence.

Jim shrugs.  “Well, I guess I cheated on that one a little bit.  I wasn’t going to ask your dad about it anymore, but I didn’t feel so bad about getting some information from the old guy.”

“Ambassador Selek?”

“Yeah – I can’t get used to calling him that, but I can’t call him Spock, either.  That’s always only going to be you.”  Jim smiles warmly at his friend, and is pretty sure he’s not imagining Spock’s sudden quick intake of breath as he does so.

“Anyway, I figured he might know something about the lute, who made it, stuff like that.  Turned out – well, you know this already – but I was in luck, a little bit, because the guy who made yours wasn’t based on Vulcan to begin with.”

“Separ.  Separ of Trilian.”  Spock looks down at the bottom of the lute, sees the craftsman’s seal there.  “You found him?  He is still alive and building instruments?”

Jim shakes his head.  “Actually, he’s not.  But his daughters took over the shop from him when he got to where he couldn’t do the work anymore, so they were still around.  And it turned out that a few years back, before he’d gotten sick and stopped working, one thing he’d done was to create a copy of the lute he’d made for you.  He’d never had any intention of selling it, and his daughters weren’t going to let it go until I explained that I wanted it for you.”

Spock looks at Jim for a long moment.  He opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it.  Shaking his head, he tries again.

“This… this was a staggering expense for you, Jim.  I cannot allow –“

“Stop. Just… just stop.”  Jim’s not sure he knows what to say next; it’s not like Spock is wrong – it just doesn’t matter.  “It’s not as though I don’t have the money; the bonus for saving the planet ended up being pretty good, as it turns out.” 

He stops, swallowing hard. “And, well… dammit, Spock, I wanted you to have it.  Of all the things you don’t have anymore – if there was something that had meant a lot to you, and I was in a position to give something like it back to you again, then that’s what I wanted to do.  So… please, Spock.  Just let me do it.”

_Because now_ , Jim thinks, _now there can’t be any way in hell that he doesn’t know._

**~o0o~**

Spock nods, placing the lute carefully onto the floor before looking back toward Jim.  “I do not know what to say to you, Jim; mere thanks seem inadequate for the magnitude of this gesture.  I cannot imagine the time and effort that it took to –“

“Spock.”  Jim’s voice is gentle, those brilliant blue eyes glowing with warmth as he smiles slightly.  “Shut up.”

Then, unexpectedly, Jim’s hands are framing his face – and gently, he leans forward to touch his lips to Spock’s.  The contact itself lasts barely more than a second before Jim has resumed his original position, but Spock finds himself shaken to the core.

“… Jim?”  Try as he might, he cannot think of anything else to say at just this moment.

Jim laughs a little, somewhat nervously. 

“Yeah, about that.”  He shrugs again, looking down now so that he is addressing his knees.  “I’d imagine you’ve probably figured out by now that I have… well, shit.  I think of you as a lot more than a friend, Spock.  Have for a long time, to be honest.  And, well, I don’t know – I guess I’m hoping at this point that maybe that’s why you’ve been acting so weird these past few weeks.  Maybe you figured out you thought of me as more than a friend, too – and instead of telling me, you just freaked out and tried to stay away from me.” 

Jim looks up once more, meeting Spock’s eyes with a wry smile.  “It seems like kind of a Spock way of handling things.”

He pauses then, uncertainty suddenly plain on his face.  “But I don’t want to put words in your mouth.  You can tell me if I’m wrong – or if I’m right, for that matter.”

Finally, Spock yields to the urge he has had all morning, and reaches forward to smooth Jim’s hair into order with his fingers; Jim’s hair feels every bit as thick as it looks, and is even softer than it appears.  He is gratified by the small, pleased sound that Jim makes as Spock touches him – and wishes to hear it again.  Mirroring Jim’s gesture, he places a hand on each of Jim’s cheeks, feeling the stubble of Jim’s morning whiskers pleasantly rough beneath his fingers – then he moves to bring their lips together again.

This time, the kiss is not so brief – though it remains soft and exceptionally gentle, Spock can feel Jim’s mouth move under his own as Jim’s fingers make their way into Spock’s hair. 

After a long moment, Spock pulls away.  “As usual, Jim, you understand me better than anyone else.  My unforgivable behavior toward you over these past weeks was indeed motivated by exactly the feelings you described.” 

He reaches down to pick up the smaller package that he had brought with him from his own room.  “I believe you have another gift to open, Jim.  It is nothing in comparison to what you have given me, but I wish for you to have it, nonetheless.”

Jim is looking at him with so much love that it is all he can do not to pull him close and kiss him all over again – but that, he knows, can wait for a few minutes more.

Jim removes the paper more carefully than usual, and stops when his fingers meet the softness of the gift itself.

“A scarf?  It’s beautiful, Spock.”  Jim unwinds the long, black knitted scarf, feeling the almost silky texture of the yarn slipping through his fingers.  “You know I have a hell of a time keeping warm when we end up somewhere that’s its really freezing.  I don’t have that thick northern blood like Chekov.”

Jim is obviously pleased with it – but although he does not say so, Spock can tell that he seems a bit confused by the gift as well.  He is running his hand over the soft material once again when, suddenly, awareness sets in and he freezes.

“You made this.” 

Spock nods in reply.

“You knitted this scarf.  For me.”

Spock sounds somewhat amused, now.  “Indeed.”

“When the hell did you learn how to _knit_?”  Jim sounds curious and indignant at the same time – as though Spock had somehow been withholding his ability to knit from Jim on purpose as some sort of affront.

“In fact, I learned as a small boy.  When I was quite young, my health was far more delicate than it is now; I believe that my system was still trying to find a way to balance its human and Vulcan elements, and as a result, I was often confined to my home while recuperating from one illness or another.  To help alleviate my boredom, my mother taught me to knit.”

Jim is smiling, now.  “I’m trying to imagine a little Spock with knitting needles.  I’d have to guess you were pretty damn adorable.”

Spock chooses not to respond, merely lifting an eyebrow in affectionate exasperation, and Jim laughs outright.

Spock takes the scarf from Jim’s hands, placing it instead around his neck – and if the juxtaposition of a knitted scarf against the Academy t-shirt in which Jim had slept looks somewhat incongruous, he does not notice.

“Each year at Christmas, my mother would give me a practical gift of some sort.  More often than not, it was something she had knitted for me.  I am glad to say that I still have a number of sweaters in my possession that she made for me in the past; as you can probably imagine, the very few tangible reminders I have of my mother are now exceedingly precious to me.”

Jim places a hand on Spock’s shoulder, concern and sympathy in his expression.  Spock reaches up, covering Jim’s hand with his own.

“I asked my mother, once, why it was that she took the time to knit garments for me when she could have purchased them with much less effort on her part.  She explained to me that she wished to expend the effort – she called it a ‘labor of love.’  Of course, she knew that actual demonstrations of affection were frowned upon in our culture – but she said that whenever I wore something that she had made for me, I could recall that she had created it with her own hands specifically for me. ‘With love in every stitch,’ she said.”

“I did not fully understand that at the time – like so many things that have since become clearer to me – but of late, I found myself wishing to create something specifically for you, Jim.  I could not bring myself to acknowledge my feelings for you, but still I had to do something as… an emotional outlet, for lack of a better term.”

Jim smiles at him then, and Spock can no longer think of what to say.

“You knitted me this scarf because you love me.”  As if to punctuate the sentence, Jim leans forward once more to give Spock the barest wisp of a kiss.

“Indeed.”  Spock does not know how he is still capable of coherent conversation.  “And you found a replica of my lute because you love me.”

The sheer joy on Jim’s face is breathtaking – and then he smiles mischievously, raising what he hopes is a “Vulcan-esque” eyebrow at Spock. 

“Indeed,” he replies with a barely-suppressed chuckle.

“Jim?”

“Yes, Spock?”

“Was that intended to be an imitation of me?”  Spock raises his own eyebrow now.

Jim’s smile grows. “It was.”

“You should be aware,” Spock says in a tone that he hopes sounds appropriately condescending, “that you are not particularly adept at raising only one eyebrow.” 

 

Reaching forward, Spock brushes each of Jim’s thick brows with the tip of one finger.  “Even when I am fairly certain you intend to raise only one, in fact, they both go up.”

As he had intended, Jim laughs at this observation before pulling Spock closer and kissing him again – longer, this time, which Spock wholeheartedly approves.  When they stop, Jim does not lean back, but whispers against Spock’s lips – a sensation that Spock finds to be almost painfully arousing.

“Well, I suppose that’s all right, since I do have other talents.”

Spock feels his breath mingling with Jim’s as he whispers against Jim’s mouth as well.  “I would not be averse to learning more about those… talents, should you be inclined to demonstrate.” 

He can hardly believe that he is being so forward – but this is Jim, and there is nothing he cannot say to Jim. 

And in fact, Jim throws his head back and laughs once more, delightedly.  “Why, you brazen hussy.  I had no idea.”

**~o0o~**

_This can't be real._

He'd gone to bed last night feeling drained, exhausted – and almost unbearably lonely. And now, not even twelve hours later…

Jim is vaguely aware of the still-blinking lights of the tree behind him, the crackle of the simulated fire in the corner, the stack of gifts on the floor at his feet from the family of friends who somehow care about him as much as he cares about them.

And amazing as all of that is – and it really is – it all fades into insignificance in comparison to the knowledge that Spock loves him.

Loves him.

The universe has shrunk down to almost nothing now – he's here, and Spock's here, and for these brief moments, there is no one else.

Jim knows he must be staring at Spock like a love-struck idiot, but it's pretty clear that Spock doesn't mind. In fact, he seems to like it – or at least that's the impression Jim gets when he moves close to kiss him yet again.

He'd had no idea that Spock's lips would be so soft, that he'd smell so good and taste even better. This is so, so much hotter than he'd ever imagined – not, of course, that he'd ever have admitted to fantasizing about his first officer's mouth.

And now the aforementioned first officer has broken away, just the slightest bit.

"Jim."

There is so much love in Spock's voice, and he looks happier, perhaps, than Jim has ever seen him – his mouth isn't smiling, but his eyes are, and he seems almost to radiate contentment.

"Spock."

 Jim can't fight the huge smile that wants to take up residence on his face, any more than he can fight the urge to run his fingers through that silky, ridiculously well-ordered hair – just to mess it up a little.

_So what if it falls right back into place?_

"You are… you are happy, Jim?"

Of course he knows the answer to that already – the guy's a touch telepath, and God knows they've been doing their share of touching over the past few minutes. But there's a tentative undercurrent in his voice that goes straight to Jim's heart, and it's clear that Spock wants to hear it, all the same.

Jim totally gets that – and he has no problem providing Spock with the reassurance he's looking for. "I don’t even have the words for it, Spock – I’m happier than I even knew I was able to feel."

Absently, he runs his fingertips gently across the back of Spock's hand – and is momentarily taken aback by the sudden jolt of reaction he gets. Because of course he'd forgotten – just briefly – that Vulcan hands are insanely sensitive, and a noted erogenous zone for them. What he'd meant as a comforting gesture – well, it was pretty obvious that "comforting" was not the way Spock had felt it.

Even if he hadn't been meaning to turn Spock on intentionally, he's sure not going to pass up the chance to do it now.

In a moment of inspiration, Jim lifts his index finger and moves it to trace a teasingly light outline of Spock's hand as it rests on Jim's knee – up the side of his thumb and back down again, up the index finger and down, and so on. If he didn't know better, Jim might be concerned that Spock doesn't like it – he's gone completely motionless for nearly a full minute, staring at him with wide, unfocused eyes. But then Spock draws a deep, trembling breath and starts to actually _quiver_ under Jim's gentle touch.

And getting past that famous Vulcan control – God, that is _such_ a turn-on that Jim wants more of it, wants it now. He takes Spock's hand in his, turning it over so that he can draw soft, slow circles in the surprisingly soft palm with one fingertip – and all the while, he never breaks eye contact, watching with fierce satisfaction as the warm brown velvet of Spock's eyes darkens to black. Spock remains completely still, but makes a tiny sound deep in his throat that might have been a moan.

A spike of heat rushes through Jim with painful urgency; _he wants me –_ _wants me as much as I want him._

Without thinking, Jim lifts Spock's hand to his lips, gently brushing a kiss into the palm before beginning to trace the circle once more – only now with the tip of his tongue.

The sound Spock makes now is unquestionably a moan; at this new contact, his eyes drift shut and his head drops back in what is obviously pure pleasure. Jim has never seen him so completely out of it; he's warm and pliant in Jim's hands, and it is all just so unbearably exciting that Jim knows that he could easily come right now, just watching Spock like this.

That's not how Jim wants it, though; hot as this is, he wants so much more.

Without warning, the hand in his shifts, and Jim finds his wrist caught gently but inescapably in strong Vulcan fingers. Spock's eyes are locked on his now, and Jim knows that somehow the tide has turned; if he'd had control of this situation, he most certainly doesn't anymore.

Coherent thought stops for a moment – maybe more – as Spock seizes Jim's other wrist as well, using the momentum of that gesture to pull Jim down onto the bed. Next thing he knows, he's flat on his back, wrists pinned over his head in one of Spock's hands, and Spock has straddled him before swooping down to take his mouth in the most devastatingly thorough kiss Jim has ever known.

Now it's Jim who's quivering – and he can hear himself moaning, knows he's utterly lost, doesn't care. And it's almost like Spock can sense the moment when Jim surrenders totally – _of course he can, idiot_ – and he growls – actually _growls_ – in a thrillingly uninhibited sound of absolute satisfaction and complete possession.

Jim's hips are moving of their own volition now, and he feels sparks shooting through him as his own hardness grinds against Spock's. Spock lets go of his wrists, using both hands to pull Jim's shirt off over his head; when it doesn't come off easily, Spock growls again – _and God, how hot is that?_ – and impatiently pulls until the fabric comes away with a satisfying ripping sound.

Now, that hot mouth is placing soft, open-mouthed kisses across Jim's chest before moving up to lick the spot on Jim's neck where his pulse is hammering frantically. Jim's fingers attempt to undo Spock's shirt as well – and when he's stymied by the alien fastenings, Spock gently bats his hands away before swiftly removing the garment himself.

Then… _oh, God_.  The skin-to-skin contact when Spock leans back down to take his mouth again, and their bare chests are together for the first time…

_Unbelievable._

The sudden, overwhelming urge to have _more of Spock, all of Spock, **now**_ crashes across Jim in a tidal wave of sheer need.  Taking Spock by surprise, Jim rolls them both over so that without ever breaking the kiss, they’re now lying on their sides facing one another – and Jim has much more freedom to let his hands roam where they will.

Jim caresses unexpectedly silky skin over the sinewy contours of Spock’s back before allowing his hands to slip under the waistband of the soft black pants that must be Spock’s version of pajamas; he has to admit that he’s always been just a little obsessed with his first officer’s exceptionally fine ass, and he’s certainly not going to miss the opportunity to get his hands on that particular part of Spock’s anatomy.

Spock doesn’t seem to have any objections at all to the increasingly… _personal_ nature of Jim’s caresses.  In fact, he evidently decides that Jim has hit on an excellent idea, as his own hands move under the elastic of Jim’s waistband as well. 

Jim feels those strong hands cupping his backside, pulling him impossibly closer so that they’re grinding almost mindlessly against one another now, their kiss having morphed from something slow and loving to a fierce duel of clashing teeth and tongues. 

Looking back later, he’ll never know which one of them had gotten the idea to lose the pajama pants – but by some sort of unspoken agreement, they’re gone, and without really knowing how it happened, Jim has taken his own erection and Spock’s in his hand, stroking them together with a strong, sure rhythm.  The feeling of his own hard length against Spock’s is amazing; Jim had never had the slightest idea that anything – _anything_ – could feel like this.

Even as his hand continues to stroke them both, Jim is kissing Spock's throat, marking him with tiny bites that will hopefully be concealed under his Science blues.  If the marks end up showing, though, that’s okay with Jim, too.

_Let everybody know he’s mine.  Mine._

Then Spock pulls Jim’s hand away from them both, and Jim hears himself actually _whimpering_ in protest, and that’s just all kinds of humiliating until he realizes that Spock wishes to replace Jim’s hand with his own.

And then, _damn_.

Now Jim can’t breathe, can’t think – because this is a whole new ballgame.   Spock – damn it all, Spock is _cheating_ , because he can pick up on Jim’s thoughts and sensations through their touch, and is using that knowledge of exactly what he likes best to make Jim fall apart completely.

God knows it doesn’t take long.

Even as he’s driving Jim crazy with those sure, strong hands, Spock is kissing his neck almost frantically, whispering unintelligible words against Jim’s hair; even without more than a rudimentary understanding of Vulcan, Jim recognizes them as words of endearment.

“ _Ashayam, K’diwa_ – my Jim.   _Mine._ ”  Spock’s voice sounds as broken as Jim feels – he can’t imagine how they’re surviving this moment without bursting into flames.

Jim feels Spock’s breathing becoming faster and shallower – much like his own has been for quite some time now – and his smooth motion of his hand around them both is increasingly erratic.  He’s near the edge – Jim’s no touch telepath, but he can tell that all the same.

“Don’t hold back – not now.”  He hardly recognizes his own voice.  “Let go – come for me, Spock.” 

Spock draws a deep, shuddering breath, and fathomless black eyes are burning into his own as his entire body tenses.

If Jim had been capable of thinking about it, he might have expected Spock to cry out when he reached climax – instead, he barely whispers Jim’s name before Jim feels his release coming hot and powerful between them. 

That’s all it takes to send Jim over the edge as well; he’s moaning Spock’s name over and over before his body is rocked by the force of his orgasm, and the world goes dark around him.

**~o0o~**

The room is quiet now; Spock opens his eyes to look down at the man in his arms, realizing with something like amazement that this had not been yet another of his futile fantasies.  Jim is here, pressed warmly against him, their bodies still entwined.   Though Jim has yet to regain consciousness 11.8 minutes after their somewhat explosive encounter, Spock is not concerned; it is clear that Jim has subsided into sleep again, which is thoroughly understandable. 

Rather than waking him by attempting to move, Spock reaches onto the floor to feel blindly for what is left of Jim’s shirt, using the scrap of fabric to clean up most of the fluid on their abdomens before pulling one of Jim’s blankets over them both and assuming a more comfortable position.  He does not wish to disturb Jim by rising from the bed – and he has to admit that he, too, is physically exhausted by the events of the morning. 

Spock pulls Jim closer; he nestles into the curve of Spock’s shoulder with a contented sigh before relaxing completely again.  Spock follows Jim into sleep, as he would follow him everywhere.

It is nearly three hours later when Spock is brought back to awareness; Jim is beginning to stir, and will be awake soon.

“It really happened.”  Spock feels the whisper against his neck as much as he hears it; Jim burrows into the pillow – and into Spock’s shoulder – more firmly, and Spock feels his arms tighten around Jim instinctively.

“It really did, Jim.  Though it might interest you to know that my first thoughts upon awakening mirrored your own; I initially had difficulty believing that what we shared could have been real.”

Jim chuckles, and it is a wonderful, warm sound that wraps around Spock like the strong arms that encircle him even now.  “It was pretty damn amazing, that’s for sure.”

Spock finds himself fighting yet another surge of insecurity; even though he knows now that Jim’s sexual experience was not nearly as extensive as had been reported, it was almost certainly more extensive than his own.  Other than a couple of unsuccessful attempts at intimacy with Nyota, this is the first time he has ever engaged in this kind of activity, and he hopes that his lack of expertise did not adversely affect Jim’s enjoyment.

  
“It’s never been like that for me before, Spock – not ever.”  Yet again, it is as though Jim is reading his thoughts – and Spock is filled with the sudden certainty that the two of them, he and Jim, are two halves of a whole, destined to be together.  Each of them is worthy and admirable in his own right – but they are so much better together, creating a whole that is exponentially greater than the sum of its parts.

Brilliant blue eyes stare intently into his own; it is as though Jim is trying somehow to see into him.  “And in case you hadn’t quite figured this out, I don’t ever want to do anything like that again with anybody but you.”

Spock has indeed suspected this, but feels oddly comforted to hear the confirmation from Jim himself.  “That sentiment is, as you probably realize, entirely mutual.”

Jim smiles, leaning over to softly kiss Spock on one cheek – and the unexpected tenderness of that gesture momentarily takes Spock’s breath away.

Jim is stretching now, in preparation for leaving the bed.  “Don’t know about you, Spock, but I could do with a shower.”  His eyes sparkle as his smile turns just a bit wicked.  “And in the interest of conservation, I think you’d agree that it’s best that we take a shower together to save water.”

“I doubt most sincerely that any water would be saved;  However…” Spock feels the corners of his mouth twitch as he suppresses a grin.  “…your idea is not without some scientific merit, and bears researching.”

Jim is laughing as he rolls out of bed; Spock finds that he truly loves being able to make Jim laugh.

“I did mention to you that I love you, right, Spock?”

“Perhaps not directly, but you did indeed manage to convey that point to me quite effectively.”   Spock gets up from the bed as well, and places warm palms onto Jim’s bare shoulders, leaning forward for the briefest of kisses.  “I hope that I have made it clear to you that I love you, as well.”

It is Jim’s turn to lean in for a kiss.  “You have – but I don’t mind hearing it again.”

Spock stills, suddenly serious.  “I will continue to say it to you for as long as draw breath, Jim.”

He knows he is not imagining the sudden moisture in Jim’s vivid blue eyes as he reaches to take Spock’s hand, pulling it to rest over the spot in his chest where the human heart beats strongly.

“And I’ll say it to you for as long as my heart keeps beating.”  Jim looks down briefly, suddenly embarrassed.  “If that sounds clichéd as hell – well, then, so be it.  But… but I know what a gift you’ve given me today, and I’ll cherish you, I swear it.”

“As I will cherish you, _ashayam_.”  Spock takes their clasped hands and brings Jim’s hand to his lips before pulling him into his arms. 

They stand there for a long moment, simply holding one another in the silent room.

Spock feels Jim smile against his skin.  "So, Mr. Scientific Merit -- would you like to do some research about your shower hypothesis?"  There is a hint of mischief in his voice, and Spock can feel the first stirrings of desire beginning again in both of them. 

“I would indeed be willing to perform some experiments, Captain.”  There is more than a hint of mischief in his own voice, and the smile he gets in response warms him from the core of his being.

“Moreover, Jim, when we are finished with our shower research, I believe there is a matter of human anthropological study that I would like to undertake.”

Jim is watching him with sudden suspicion in his eyes, though his smile never fades. “Anthropological study?  Do tell, Mr. Spock.”

“In the course of my rather extensive study of Terran holiday traditions, I have heard about the idea of displaying of _viscum album_ – mistletoe – as a decorative item that has other significance.  It occurs to me that since there is currently a specimen of that piece of flora in your quarters, you might be able to demonstrate how it is used traditionally in your culture.”  To his credit, Spock manages to sound almost completely serious – though at this moment, he is filled with such an abundance of joy that it takes every bit of his Vulcan training not to smile.

Jim nods, his expression serious as well.  “You’d like for me to demonstrate what we do with the mistletoe on Earth?” He pretends to consider the idea, nodding solemnly.  “I suppose we can do that.  I mean, in the interest of science.”

Then he can no longer maintain the serious façade, and chuckles softly before taking Spock’s face in his hands and kissing him, so tenderly, once more.

“This has been the most incredible morning of my entire life, you know that?”  Jim’s eyes are shining, and his love for Spock is clear in his expression.  “I don’t even know what to say right now.”

Spock leans in for another kiss.  “I believe the appropriate phrase is ‘Merry Christmas,’ Jim.”


	9. Epilogue

_**The best of all gifts around a Christmas tree: the presence of a happy family all wrapped up in one another.  
~ Burton Hillis** _

~o0o~

* * *

"Never thought I'd see the day I'd be sayin' this, Jim – but Spock's done a real nice job decorating the place for Christmas."

Jim does his best to sound offended. "Wait just a minute, buddy – how do you know it wasn't  _me_  who decorated our quarters?"

He still likes how it sounds when he says "our quarters" – even though it's been well over six months since he and Spock made it official by moving Spock's stuff into Jim's room. After all, it wasn't as though they hadn't been spending every night together for months already by that time – and it wasn't as though they'd been fooling anybody, anyway.

McCoy catches the little satisfied smile on Jim's face – it's great to see the kid so happy, even if it  _is_  because of the damn hobgoblin.

"I know it wasn't you,  _Captain_ ," he says with undue emphasis on that last word – and an affectionate smile that entirely defeats his sarcastic tone – "because I've seen how you decorate for the holiday. As you'll recall, I've been victimized by your décor on more than one occasion."

He shakes his head, thinking back on some of Jim's more memorable efforts. "So I'm in a position to know that once  _you're_ done with a room, it looks as though it's been decorated by a particularly festive Orion hooker who's been taking hallucinogenic mushrooms."

"That mental image, Doctor, provides a fascinating visual." Spock has just come back into the room, with what looks to be more holiday decorations draped over one arm. "I am, however, gratified that you approve of my attempt to make our quarters more festive to prepare for the upcoming Christmas holiday."

Now, McCoy gets what Jim has always called the "Eyebrow of Death," though there is an undertone to Spock's voice that is becoming increasingly familiar – the one that sounds like Spock is actually  _teasing_  him.

"As I am certain that you already know, Dr. McCoy, your approval is always of utmost importance to me."

Without meaning to, McCoy hears himself breaking into laughter – and Jim, of course, is joining right in. Because as he's discovered over the past months, damned if Jim's not right; the green-blooded bastard really  _does_  have a sense of humor.

It figures, of course, that Spock's jokes are usually at the doctor's own expense – but what the hell. It's almost Christmas, and he can let this one slide.

Especially since even if he is whipping a little shit on Spock for fixing the place up for Christmas, it's plain that the only reason that Spock would have for doing Christmas decorations at all – much less in his own private quarters – would be because he loves Jim.

And anybody who loves Jim can't be all bad.

McCoy spots a new photograph in a frame on Jim's desk, and laughs again. "I'd say this is taking the 'Starfleet's Youngest Captain' bit a little too far, wouldn't you?"

"Hey – maybe it's not 'James T. Kirk,' but it's a James Kirk in the captain's chair all the same – and that's gotta count for something." Jim smiles fondly at the photo, taken just a couple of weeks previously, of his 2-year-old nephew Jamie, who's dressed in an impossibly tiny replica of the Command gold uniform and perched delightedly in Jim's chair on the bridge of the _Enterprise_. The picture freezes a lovely moment; it's almost as though you can hear the little boy's giggle.

It had been a combination of planning and luck that had put the  _Enterprise_  on a course that could reasonably involve a stop at the Cestus IV colony. Jim had managed to finagle an assignment that would normally have gone to a supply ship, and brought provisions to the colony where – as luck would have it – the captain's older brother lived with his family.

Granted, the visit with Sam and his new family hadn't been a lengthy one – and Jim would have been lying if he said it wasn't pretty damn awkward, because there were honestly some seriously uncomfortable moments where neither he nor Sam had any idea of what the hell to say to one another. When it comes down to it, Jim and Sam still have baggage, both individually and together; and there's a long distance to bridge between them in more ways than one before they have anything approaching the relationship they'd had as kids.

But even if it wasn't anybody's idea of a touchingly emotional reunion between the long-separated brothers... well, hell. It was a start. Moreover, Uncle Jim was now the undisputed hero of two completely awestruck little boys; after all, not everybody gets to visit their uncle for an afternoon on his very own starship.

Pete and Jamie had been thrilled to death with their replicas of Uncle Jim's gold captain's shirt – and when Uncle Bones gave them their own Science blues as well, then that had been just about the coolest thing ever.

Jim picks up the photo, observing it more closely. "Aurelan wrote the other day – said she can't get the boys to take the damn Starfleet shirts off long enough to even wash them."

"Yeah, that's kids for you – I remember when Jo-Jo went through her 'Tara the Tribble' phase, and that's all she'd wear. She looked like a damn furball; it was embarrassing to let her leave the house. That shit's cute at first, then it gets obnoxious as hell."

Jim puts the picture down, crossing the room to help Spock with a string of lights he's putting around the small tree in the corner. In the year since their last Christmas together, Sulu had made a point of getting hold of a dwarf fir for this very purpose – and Spock had made sure that the lights they would use were specifically programmed  _not_ to flash.

"Speaking of obnoxious children," Jim says over his shoulder, "Hikaru says that Pavel got the bright idea to make their quarters look like mine did last year. Probably a good thing I have that katana; I might have to end up defending myself if Sulu wakes up on Christmas morning with tinsel hanging off –"

"You little fuck." Bones cuts him off, fast. "You  _swore_  you'd never bring that up again."

"I must admit to having no desire to hear how Dr. McCoy may or may not have been decorated for the holidays when the two of you were roommates at the Academy, Jim – though you do seem singularly determined to mention it on every possible occasion."

It's a testament to how much time these three have spent together – and to the unlikely friendship that has developed between Spock and McCoy – that the doctor can tell that Spock is in fact smiling right now, even though his facial expression hasn't changed.

"Moreover, Jim, I assure you that you will not need to defend yourself against Lt. Sulu, regardless of where Ensign Chekov may or may not apply tinsel."

Although Spock maintains the easy conversational tone that is intended to sound as though he is still teasing, it's clear to Bones and Jim that he means it; anybody who wants to mess with Jim is going to have to go through Spock – and that's just simply not going to happen.

Bones has lost track of the number of beings who've learned that lesson the hard way – though he has no doubt that Spock has an itemized list of them in his mind, organized by species, date, size and motive.

"Sulu said they'd make it by here for cocoa and cookies tonight at about 2100 hours – Scotty, too, though I'm guessing he's gonna bring something stronger than cocoa." Jim tries to lift one eyebrow in Bones' direction, much to the unspoken amusement of his partner. "And I'm not letting you anywhere  _near_  the damn cocoa this time, buddy – not after that little stunt you pulled last year."

"You will be joining us this evening as well, Leonard?"

Sometimes Spock slips and forgets to be snarky; McCoy doesn't mention it, mostly because he'd never admit that he actually likes it. Jim notices, though, and feels a rush of warmth in his chest toward these two dearest people in his life; he knows that they've become such good friends only because their love for him motivated them to get past their differences.

"Of course I'll be here – you don't think the damn stockings are gonna fill themselves, do you?"

" _What?_  You're saying it's not Santa?" Jim tries to look stricken – then ducks, laughing, to avoid the pillow that Bones grabs from the sofa and throws at his head.

"Anyway, Bones, get here whenever you want – we'll be here pretty much all evening." Jim looks up, just a little too casually. "You won't be coming by yourself, will you?"

"Jim." Spock sounds just a little reproving. "You agreed that you were not going to continue to harass Leonard about the state of his social or romantic life at this time."

McCoy looks over at Spock with a mix of surprise and gratitude plain on his face. "Thank you, Spock. It's nice to know that _somebody_  still thinks I'm entitled to a little bit of privacy." He tries to glower at Jim, but it's clear that his heart's not in it. "And if you must know, no – I won't be coming by myself. We're going to get together for dinner first, and then we'll swing by here."

The "we" in question is Leonard and Nyota, whose friendship began last year at Christmas and has continued to grow into something that is probably much more than friendship. However, the only human on the ship who's more private than Bones is Nyota herself – so it's like pulling teeth for Jim to get any scoop about what's going on between the two of them, best friend or not.

Not that this keeps him from trying – at every possible occasion.

"Well, I've had about all the holiday cheer I can handle for one morning; if neither of you are up for joining me for breakfast, then I'm going to go grab a bite and then head down to Sickbay to terrorize M'Benga for a while."

"Bones," Jim says with a tinge of exasperation, "you know those funny things called  _days off_? Usually, those mean you don't go into work. Think you could try that, just once, maybe?"

"Not a snowball's chance in Hell, Jimmy-Boy – you know that as well as I do, because you're every damn bit as bad as I am." McCoy ruffles Jim's hair affectionately. "But I'll make you a deal – I'll stay out of Sickbay today if you stay off the bridge."

He watches as Jim ponders this compromise – because Bones is right, and Jim can't stay away from his work even on the days when he's supposedly off-duty. They're literally out in the middle of nowhere, there's not a damn thing going on, and the eminently capable Lt. Arex has got his hands – all three of them – on the controls today. But still…

"All right. Deal. I'll stay off the bridge. But I'm calling down to Chapel as soon as you leave this room, and if they can even hear your footsteps in the corridor, they'll be calling me – you hear?"

"Yes, sir, Captain, sir." McCoy rolls his eyes; sometimes it sucks when your best friend is also your commanding officer. Of course, it's a pretty even balance of power, since they both know that he can and will vaccinate Jim nine ways from Sunday if Jim crosses him.

"See you two later." With that, he's out the door.

Throughout McCoy's visit, Spock has continued to work quietly throughout the room – hanging a wreath on the wall, placing ornaments on the little tree, making room for the presents that will be opened in the morning. The silence when McCoy leaves is by no means uncomfortable, and Jim indulges himself in one of his favorite activities – simply watching Spock. Fortunately for them both, Spock does not mind being observed by Jim; they don't really talk about it, but if he had his guess, Jim thinks he might actually kind of like it.

"This sure is different from where we were at this point last year." He knows that Spock is going to turn around any second now and give him the "way to be obvious" eyebrow – but as this Christmas has approached, Jim has found that last year's celebration and the events leading up to it have been on his mind a lot.

To Jim's surprise, the eyebrow is not forthcoming. "Last Christmas has been in my thoughts frequently as well as we have prepared for this year's holiday gathering." Spock puts down the garland of artificial greenery he's been arranging and comes to stand by Jim.

"I cannot help noticing,  _k'diwa_ , that you have seemed somewhat troubled over these past few days." There is a note of uncertainty in Spock's voice that goes straight to Jim's heart. "Are our preparations… lacking in any way?"

_So that's why he's been trying so hard to fix the place up._  Jim feels like a complete ass for giving Spock the impression that he's anything but the most wonderful thing in Jim's life.

"God, no, Spock – that is so  _totally_  not it. Oh, love – I'm so sorry if I made you feel that way."

Jim looks down at the floor; he doesn't know if Spock is going to understand this or not. "I've been feeling a little badly that I haven't found anything as cool as your lute to get you this year; I've been looking for something really amazing pretty much the whole year, and I guess inspiration just never struck. I mean, it's not that I didn't get you anything, obviously. It's just that…"

He is cut off then as Spock pulls him into a crushing embrace, speaking softly into his ear. "To quote our friend Dr. McCoy, 'For a genius, you sure are stupid.'" He pauses as he feels Jim relax and start to laugh against his shoulder, then pulls away just far enough to place the tenderest of kisses onto Jim's forehead.

"You understand – you  _must_  understand – that you gave me the greatest gift I could ever have asked for when you gave me your love, Jim." His arms tighten around his  _t'hy'la_  yet again, and his voice is suddenly urgent. "Tell me that you know this."

"Of course I know that, Spock." Jim's voice is muffled against Spock's shirt, but he makes no move to leave the circle of warm, strong Vulcan arms. "Just as you gave me the gift of a lifetime when you agreed to bond with me. I mean, I went from feeling almost totally alone to knowing that I have the love of my life, for the rest of my life."

If their current missions went as planned, they would be able to make a trip to the new Vulcan colony within a few months in order to be officially bonded according to the traditions of Spock's ancestors. Meanwhile, they've already bonded in every other way that's important, which is truly the most amazing thing Jim has ever known. He can only hope that he does a good enough job of letting Spock know how very much this means to him.

"You always do,  _ashayam_." Jim starts slightly, forgetting that when they're this close, it's easy for Spock to pick up his thoughts; having Spock actually inside his head, even just a little bit, is kind of hard to get used to. Awesome, no doubt – but more than a little weird at first.

But now Spock is not meeting Jim's eyes. "Truth be told, I believe I was allowing my own insecurities to get the better of me. Like yourself, I have felt that I have been unable to find a gift that could possibly show you the magnitude of what you mean to me, and this has been somewhat disturbing to me - especially knowing how important the Christmas holiday is to you. I simply wanted to make the holiday as close to perfect for you as possible."

Jim laughs a little at that admission. "You know what I'm going to say to that, right? That there's nothing – nothing – you could give me, nothing I'd want, besides you and your love. You, Spock - you make  _everything_ perfect, don't you see? As long as I've got you, I could give a rat's ass what else I do or don't have. Because it just doesn't matter."

He leans back, brushing a soft kiss against Spock's lips. "We're a pair, aren't we? Both of us worrying that we're not doing enough for the other one, and freaking ourselves out for no good reason."

Another, longer kiss. "Remember what I wanted so much last Christmas?"

"I do, Jim. You hoped that we could come together as a group of friends and celebrate a family Christmas. I would have to assume that the reality of last year's celebration easily eclipsed any expectations you might have had for the event."

"You know it did." He sighs contentedly, burying his head back into Spock's shoulder. "I went from feeling as though I had almost nobody to finding out I'd had a family who loved me here on the  _Enterprise_  all along – from thinking I'd lost you entirely to finding out I had more of you than I could ever have dreamed of. And I even got back in touch with Sam, which is kind of amazing, if you think about it. I mean, that was one hell of an eventful day."

He feels Spock's nod against his hair. "And now, this year, you have had the chance to actually visit your brother and his family – and we already have our quarters quite thoroughly prepared for our  _Enterprise_  family to come and join us tonight and tomorrow for yet another Christmas celebration."

"That we do." He whispers against Spock's lips. "You've done such a great job of getting everything ready that there's nothing left for me to do."

His eyes are suddenly mischievous. "You know what'll happen next, don't you? I'll get bored down here with nothing to do – then I'll end up poking around on the bridge, and Bones will find out and hypo me until I can't see straight."

"This could definitely be a potentially difficult, or even dangerous, situation." Spock pretends to give this a great deal of consideration.

"So? You're my first officer – you're supposed to keep me out of trouble." He looks up through impossibly thick eyelashes, his voice inviting. "Any ideas?"

"Indeed." Spock inclines his head slightly, as he so often does when thinking through a problem. "It occurs to me that we could bake cookies; I believe you mentioned spending the day in such a way with your grandmother as a small child."

Jim looks absolutely exasperated – until he realizes that Spock isn't serious. "Let's leave the snickerdoodles to somebody who knows how to operate those damn ovens, all right? Because I think I have a better idea."

After a year together, Spock has become very familiar with what Jim considers to be a "better idea," but he has never had any cause to complain about Jim's "ideas". He knows he need not ask Jim what this idea might be – he'll share when he wants to, and not a moment sooner.

"You told me a minute ago that my love was the greatest gift you could have ever asked for – yes?" Spock nods; he is fairly sure he knows where this is headed – and that is absolutely fine with him.

"So… what good is a gift if you don't unwrap it?" Jim's throwing himself at Spock shamelessly, and he knows it – but he also knows that Spock loves it, so it's all good.

"You are proposing that I...  _unwrap_  you?" The corners of Spock's mouth are twitching, and Jim knows he's fighting a smile.

"I am. Do you have an issue with that request?"

"On the contrary, Jim. There is nothing I would rather do."

Threading his fingers through Jim's thick, silky hair, Spock pulls him close for a long, deep kiss - and for a long time, any kind of coherent conversation is at an end.

When the "family" gathers the next morning to exchange presents, Jim gives Spock a knowing smile whenever anyone mentions unwrapping gifts - and each time, Spock cannot suppress a slight blush. Their friends tactfully choose to ignore them both.

At last, the happiness, the warmth, the sheer love between them all grows too large for the room - too large, even, for Christmas Day itself; it has no choice but to last the whole year long.

**_Every time we love, every time we give, it's Christmas._ **  
**_~Dale Evans_ **

****

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still the longest piece I've managed to finish! I hope you enjoyed reading it even a fraction as much as I enjoyed writing it -- and thanks so much for spending your time with my story!


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